


Captured Hearts

by Ethren



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Art available for the characters, Dragons, Epic Friendship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Guaranteed weekly chapters, High Fantasy, Homebrew Content, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, explicit content, updates every Monday
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:54:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27543421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethren/pseuds/Ethren
Summary: Aven Kheistan is a lowly slave in a world where everyone, even the youngest toddler, has magic. He eventually found himself in the gladiatorial arena of Aeliorn where he made a name for himself, taking on a runt of a cub and caring for it and beating down every monster faced until he became known as the Beast Tamer. He attracted the attention of Prince Lucian Arceneaux, notorious for his jaded and bitter personality, who purchased him and brought him on as his slave. Soon after purchasing Aven, Darrien informed the young prince that he was to sail from Aeliorn on his first international diplomatic mission - to the city of Amn. Naive to his uncle’s murderous intention, he departed from Aeliorn and embarked to Amn. But no one had anticipated the strength and skill of the Prince’s new slave.When the ship was attacked by Amn pirates who intended to capture the Prince and sell them off in a slave market, Lucian and Aven are forced to work together to free themselves, survive in this strange and foreign land and begin to build an army that can allow them to return to Aeliorn, take back their home and undo Darrien’s dark deeds. Little do they know - a threat far worse than Lord Darrien waits.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	1. The Characters

**Author's Note:**

> Captured Hearts is heavily inspired by Captive Prince and shares many similarities - though the plot and direction of the stories both go in very different directions. You may find some Captive Prince ‘easter eggs’ here and there as well as nods to that amazing series.  
> The campaign takes place on a homebrew continent in the Forgotten Realms setting called Aeliorn. Credit to the map goes to danielhasenbos on Deviant Art.  
> There are mature themes that take place in this campaign, including and not limited to: gore, torture, sexual encounters, sexual abuse, drug use and alcoholism.  
> We aren’t looking for any suggestions! This is merely a novelized version of our campaign that we thought would be fun to write and all of our ideas are already set in stone.  
> We have homebrew rules set in place for our campaign and as such you may find the mechanics of the game working differently. (For example, wizards and sorcerers are the same thing, and don’t draw power from spellbooks but from their own ‘mana’, as well as the fact that all people have ‘mana’ but only mages can control it.)  
> We have been playing the 3.5 edition.  
> All characters used in Captured Hearts are our own personal characters. Please refrain from using them anywhere. Our art is custom, their personalities are custom, and their stories are custom no matter the nods or links to the mentioned book series. We would appreciate it if the characters depicted in this story remain unused!

Animatic available here: [Captured Hearts Animatic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nz6TbxMECPM)

##  **_“Courage and honor above all.”_ **

> **Name:** Aven Kheistan  
>  **Age:** 21 Years Old - Born Ches 19th  
>  **Race:** Human  
>  **Alignment:** Chaotic Good  
>  **Class:** Barbarian/Knight.  
>  **Titles:** Beast Tamer  
>  **Weapons:** Aven starts out specializing with twin battleaxes, before later retiring them to take up a longsword once wielded by his father.  
>  **Personality:** Loyal, compassionate, stubborn, hot-headed, determined, desperate, romantic, family-oriented. **  
> History:** Aven was born as the youngest of two other siblings to Malik and Katerina Kheistan. His older brother as well as mother, however, died to a terrible illness. He got a few years with his dad and sister before his sister disappeared, said to have run away for a new life. This left just Aven and his father, Malik. Malik was a knight serving beneath King Aimeric, however, was later killed on duty by friendly fire on Aven’s birthday. The same knights responsible came for Aven and sold him into slavery. A majority of Aven’s past has been buried after years and years of trauma. He remembers next to nothing outside of his time spent in the arena, years of fighting and selling his body for profit. It was in meeting Lucian Arceneaux that his life began to change. Bought by the Prince and forced into his servitude, Aven was later joined with Lucian when they embarked for Amn. The Regent had not intended for him to be such a potent threat to his plan, and Aven was able to help Lucian evade death and enslavement.

##  **_“Don’t die. I do hate bad investments.”_ **

> **Name:** Lucian Arceneaux  
>  **Age:** 18 Years - Born Hammer 1  
>  **Race:** Human  
>  **Alignment:** Lawful Neutral -> Lawful Good  
>  **Class:** Conjurer (Later Eldritch Knight multiclass)  
>  **Titles:** Crown Prince of Aeliorn  
>  **Weapons:** Lucian specializes in offensive frost spells and his rapier.  
>  **Personality:** Intelligent, cunning, lazy, arrogant, charismatic, self loathing.  
>  **History:** Lucian was born the single son and heir to the throne of Aeliorn to a loving family. His parents, Aimeric and Estelle Arceneaux, ruled Aeliorn with grace and compassion. Until they were murdered in the midst of an annual tour of their country, leaving their young son in the hands of Aimeric’s brother and the country’s new regent - Lord Darrien. Darrien sought to manipulate Lucian following the deaths of his parents, and while it worked for a time, as Lucian grew older, jaded and lazy, he became more and more difficult to handle. Darrien decided that it would be far more simple to simply rid himself of Lucian. Lucian embarked on a seabound diplomatic journey to Amn, ignorant of the fact that his uncle’s assassins lie in wait. Blinded by their own greed, rather than killing the Prince as they were commanded, they sold him and his new servant into slavery in the Amnian city of Athkatla.   
> _And so the story of revolution, growth and love begins._


	2. Beast Tamer

He could hear the crowd long before he could see them. A thundering wave that shook the ground as the thousands upon thousands of people roared above. The gladiator stood in darkness, eyes shut tight and fingers curling around his twin axes. Distantly, a voice could be heard above. Disembodied. Thrilled. _“In just a short while, we will be revealing to our guests the pride of our esteemed arena! Prepare yourselves, for today - we shall see the blood of beasts spattered on the sand!”_

He could hear a bloodthirsty roar. The roar of a monster. The roar of the crowd.

It made no difference to the arena’s champion. 

The man could feel a weight and thick, shaggy fur pressing against his side. He twisted his fingers into the lion’s fur. The floor beneath his feet began to heat up with arcane magic, and the man pushed out a breath. 

_Here we go again._

An unnatural sensation of being shoved through a straw overtook him, teleporting above and into the blinding sunlight. His sandals brushed hot sand, and he blinked away the light, gazing numb up into the crowd. Thousands of people that screamed above like starving beasts all looked the same to him from down below. Faceless. 

The crimson, starburst banners of Aeliorn spilled downwards and caught the wind. The hot sun blared down on his bronze skin and he rotated in a slow circle, twin weapons held aloft in his hands.

 _“Ladies and gentleman!”_ A mage hovered above the crowd, standing on a silver floating disk, his voice augmented to echo throughout the arena. _“Today, we welcome a most royal guest to witness a battle of man and beast. Prince Lucian has honored us with his presence!”_

Prince Lucian. The Beast Tamer’s brown eyes scanned the crowd before landing on the King’s Box. Flanked by curtains of blood red and golden pillars, the prince stood out strikingly against the nobles. Golden blonde hair was braided down his back, his dark blue - nearly black tunic done up to his chin. 

“In Honor of the Prince’s arrival,” the announcer continued. “We bring a gift! A battle between a rare beast imported from the lands of Katashaka and our very own Arena Champion! A man whose blades have tasted the flesh of man and monster! A man who’s brought brutes to tame under his heel. Your majesty, we bring you - the _Beast Tamer!”_

The Beast Tamer knew the drill. And he knew what the people wanted. His lion gave a fierce roar to match that of the crowd, muting the pound of blood in his head. Disgust twisted the barbarian’s features into a permanent sneer as he glared into the crowd of screaming filth. 

“Tsch.” He pushed his fingers through the lion’s mane. Another day. He wondered briefly what special treat they’re sending out to kill in the wake of his _highness_. “Ready, Kion?”

The lion pressed his head against the Beast Tamer’s hand. 

Prince Lucian stood up from his seat. The entire stadium held its breath. From far across the arena’s length - the Beast Tamer was sure that for a single moment, he felt the Prince’s striking blue eyes meet his own. Then the boy turned his attention to the crowd, lifting his hand. 

“Begin.”

The Beast Tamer could hear the now familiar grind of a gate being lifted. Kion curved around the man, growling into the darkness of the pen, fangs bared and the Beast Tamer twirled his axes, sandals planted firmly into the sand. They waited. They watched. 

With a burst of red hot fire, a creature emerged from the darkness. Molten flames dripped from a draconic maw. Lips pulled back from a lion’s bloody maw. Goat hooves clawed into the sand, and a serpentine tail whipped about behind the three headed monstrosity. 

A chimera.

“Fuck me,” the Beast Tamer groaned. He popped his knuckles, hefted his weapons and in a single moment - the crowd was gone. The roar of their screams dulled to nothing but the sound of his own heart slamming against his chest. 

Slowly - the two predators began to circle one another. The Beast Tamer’s twin axes were gripped firmly in his rough hands. The chimera’s body was low to the ground, body tense. The man distantly remembered watching cats hunting in alleys between run down buildings. He knew what it meant. Their eyes never left one another.

The chimera was the first to make its move.

Scaled wings snapped out at its side and with a powerful, downward thrust - it took off into the sky. The crowd screamed in fear and delight and the chimera arched around in midair, opening its maw - chest heating with a red hot light. “Kion, move!” The Beast Tamer snapped, shoving his boot against the lion’s flank. A cone of fire erupted from the chimera’s maw, striking the ground where they’d been only seconds before. 

_Damn it._ The Beast Tamer’s eyes narrowed to slits, following the chimera’s movements as it flew overhead. Every time it drew close to the open sky or the crowd, he could see a transparent net spark with electricity, sending it back towards the arena with a roar. He couldn’t hit the thing if it was flying. And he was sure he wouldn’t have to wait long for another round of flames…he had to ground it. 

The Beast Tamer hefted his axe. Watched. Waited. It was coming closer. Great wings pounded at its side, fanged jaw opening wide. He could see the telltale heat gathering in its chest. Not yet… _not yet…_

 _Now_. 

With a roar, he hurled his axe forward. It flipped in the air once, twice - then smashed against the chimera’s wing, tearing through scaly membrane. The creature screeched, crashing into the side of the colosseum. A cloud of dust was thrown up into the air, and the nobles directly above cheered wildly. 

The chimera had barely managed to stagger to its feet before Kion was slamming into it. The lion pounced, claws tearing into the chimera’s flank and teeth sank into its neck. The massive beasts howled, grappling and wrestling and thrashing. The chimera’s tail snapped wildly to the side, crashing into the arena wall so hard cracks ripped up its side. 

The bloodthirsty crowd screamed as red splashed across the sand. The beasts tore at one another, claws slashing and fangs gnashing. The Beast Tamer rushed to reclaim his weapon, snatching it off the sand - and his gut twisted as a pained cry sounded through the chaos. 

Kion. He turned just in time to watch as his precious companion fell in an exhausted heap, claw marks raking down his back expelling rivers of red that dripped down golden fur onto the sand. 

Red flooded the Beast Tamer’s vision. Rage thrummed hot through his veins. It consumed him, carrying the man in a charge across the arena and swung his axe up alongside its head. A line of blood tore across its draconic face. The chimera roared, lunging forward and swiped a paw that the Beast Tamer side stepped, scarcely missing by inches. The dragon’s head came next, teeth gnashing and the man lifted his axe, deflecting the powerful jaws that clamped onto the steel of his weapon. But what he forgot - was the goat’s head. 

Curmed horns rammed into his stomach, smiting the breath from his lungs. His skull cracked against the arena wall. The crowd erupted into cheers - mute to the man that slumped to the ground. 

His head spun. He could taste metal in his mouth. Through the blur of his vision, he could see the chimera licking its wounds and beginning to approach. The man grit his teeth, pulling up his head to wipe the blood from his lips - when he felt a hand touching his shoulder. 

The hand touching his shoulder was gloved - but there was no mistaking the blonde hair that cascaded down the prince’s back in an elegant braid. Even amongst blood and sand, his visage was delicately serene…save for his eyes. The eyes were cold, like chips of ice as they locked on to the Beast Tamer’s. 

"Don’t die,” he said. “I do hate bad investments.”

Bad investments. The words scarcely got through to the Beast Tamer. He could see nothing but red across the prince’s pale features. His head fell back into battle, eyes narrowed and a snarl ripped through him, sweeping his axes into his hands and sprung forward. 

Survival. Instinct. It was the blood in the veins, the will that drove him forward. He ducked down beneath a paw that swung at him, tumbling to the side and drew his axe along its underbelly. The great beast shrieked, whipping its tail around towards the Beast Tamer who leapt, bringing his blades down on its back. They sank in, crunching into its scaly hide. The chimera was in a state of panic. It thrashed around, struggling to sink its teeth into the Beast Tamer.

The man’s axes flashed red in the sunlight, vision swimming with desperation. It was over in seconds. He stood over the body of the trembling chimera, shoulders heaving and knuckles white around his axes. The chimera struggled to stand, crimson stained paws pushing into the sand, whimpering. 

_“Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.”_ The single word was chanted from the frenzied crowd, thundering across the arena. 

The Beast Tamer gripped his weapons tight. “…trust me,” he pushes out between heaving breaths. “You’re better off dead than a slave to the masses.”

A trio of strikes fell upon the chimera - each head tumbling from their necks and onto the sand. 

The crowd roared. Deafening. Consuming. It shook the sky and rattled his heart in his chest. He paid it no mind. The Beast Tamer stumbled towards his lion that was pushing to its feet, bloody saliva dripping from his maw. The man collapsed beside it. He took the great lion’s head into his hands, digging fingers across its tawny fur. The lion tensed at the touch. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay…I’m going to fix you up, all right? Trust me, bud..”

He looked at no one. Not the screaming crowd. Not the man who hovered above, shrieking about another marvelous, perfect fight - and not at the Prince, whose eyes were digging into the back of his head. Supporting his lion and helping the cat to its feet, the Beast Tamer led the two of them across the length of the arena, blood dripping from their wounds and towards the tunnel leading down into the colosseum depths. The roar of the crowd faded behind him.

The arena’s undercroft was a labyrinth of twisting tunnels that lead to cells and pens. Monsters howled and screeched, clawing through iron bars at him as he passed, Kion baring his teeth defensively. 

The Beast Tamer’s head still spun. Every muscle ached and the chimera’s claws made his side burn. All he wanted was to wash off the blood, sweat and grime and fall face first into his bed. 

Sleep. It was the only out he had anymore. The moment he woke up in the morning - it was the same thing. Again and again and again.

It was fucking never ending.

Entering into the armory, he lifted up his axes to place them on the rack just as the new group of gladiators entered in to be teleported into the arena above. He turned to leave - when a young voice called out from behind.

“Aven!”

Aven’s blood ran cold. He slammed his eyes tight. No. He dared to turn his head. Tallin. The young boy stood in the line of gladiators, barely up to their shoulders garbed in armor much too loose on him. The boy’s eyes burned red hot under the threat of tears. “They’re… they’re making me..”

Aven’s heart wrenched in his chest. He winced and approached, going down on one knee to take the boy’s hand. Small. Only just a week ago, when he placed a weapon in the child’s hand for the first time, he could barely hold on to it. And now…

“…your armor is crooked,” Aven murmured. His massive hands were gentle as he tightened the buckles to fix the boy’s breastplate further up towards his neck. “Do you remember what I told you.”

The boy sniffed. He pushed the back of his hand across his dirty face. “To stay on the outside…and that if someone attacks me..get in close because I have the shorter weapon.”

“That’s right. You’re smaller. Lighter. They might be stronger… but your faster.”

One of the guards snapped at Aven from the side to get a move on. He shot them a scathing glare and turned his gaze back towards the boy. The child looked white with terror. His fists shook. Aven closed them in his hands and squeezed. 

“…you’ll be all right,” he whispered. He lowered his voice. “When you come back…why don’t we visit the horses. We can find the one you like. Shadow.”

“Promise..?”

“I promise.”

“Oi!” A guard shoved between the two, sneering at Aven. “Get back to your cell, Beast Tamer.”

He leveled his spear at Aven’s chest - before it clattered to the floor as Kion roared. Furious and powerful even ripped to ribbons, the lion’s lips were pulled back to reveal horrible fangs. The guard staggered backwards, white faced and Aven pushed his fingers through the creature’s mane. “Easy, Kion,” he soothed. “Can’t eat this one. Wouldn’t want to give yourself a stomach ache.” He looked back towards the boy. “I’ll find you once you’re done.”

He wasn’t going to test his luck. Being the champion of the arena gave him certain freedoms, but all of his liberties were limited. It was like saying he was the prized cattle ready to be slaughtered. 

He turned and made his way for the slave cells. 

It was dirty, dingy and dark. He passed by men who were returning from battle bruised and bloodied and paid them no mind. You don’t make friends in a place like this. Chances were - you would eventually face them, and be forced to push your sword into their chest for sheer entertainment. Aven wanted nothing more than to fall into his cot and sleep, but as he pushed open the door to his cell he was forced to suppress a groan. 

His cell had little more than a dirty bedroll and a table and chair for meals. And sitting in the chair… “Beast Tamer,” purred the pudgy little man. “That was a fine fight.”

“Master Joran.”

Joran was a disgusting display of humanity and everything that was wrong with it. Fattened from years of gluttonous feasts and adorned in gold paid for in blood money, his greasy black hair was pushed back and beard tied with jewels and lavish adornments. He counted coins, careful to keep his opulent silks from touching Aven’s dirty ‘pen.’

“I say it often,” Joran continued. “You’ve been a fine asset. One of the best gladiators this arena has ever seen.”

“Thank you, sir.” The word curled on Aven’s lip, head bowed so that the man couldn’t see the look of utter contempt drawn over his tight features. “Will that be all, sir?”

“No. That is not all.” Satisfied, he pushed the remaining gold crowns into his pocket and turned on Aven. “A buyer has come to me during your match. Congratulations, Beast Tamer. You’ve moved up in the world.”

“A buyer.” Aven’s features twisted with disgust. His mind reeled over the arena fight. Investment…. that boy.

“Aye. He was impressed with your prowess. The Prince himself offered to purchase you from me.” The man smiled. Gold teeth flickered in the torch light. “You’ve made me a rich man, _boy_.”

Aven’s nails curled into his palms. He forced a calmer breath. “How long exactly do I have to prepare, sir.”

“You will have an hour. Pack your things and wash yourself before meeting his Highness in the slave gallery.” He burrows his beady black eyes into Aven’s. “You would be careful to keep your tongue still lest you lose it in the Prince’s presence. I will not suffer another embarrassment.”

The first instance was fresh in Aven’s mind. His teeth threatened to give under the clench of his jaw as he bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then I’ll see you soon.” The man hobbled from the room like a bloated pig. 

As soon as he was out of sight, it took all of seconds for Aven’s fist to slam into the barrs of his cell. A loud clang echoed throughout the room, pain shooting up his arm. “Fuck!” Aven snarled, eyes pinching closed. He leaned into his cell. His legs shook. 

He’d finally found his place. Not content. Never content. But accepting. And now… now it was all crashing around his head. He was to become some servant in a stuffy castle serving prudish nobles. Or perhaps a slave for pleasure. All because of him. All because of that _boy_. 

_Prince Lucian._


	3. A Change in Scenery

Aven was to be washed before he was presented to the Prince. To say bathing was uncomfortable would be an understatement. It was horrendous. The arena baths were connected to the slave gallery, allowing for freshly washed slaves to be transported for viewing upon being dried. They were outrageously opulent. Water flowed from vases held by statues of angelic women, filling pools lined with mosaic tiles that glimmered a kaleidoscope of colours from the flickering torches.

Aven’s clothes were ripped from his back, breastplate clattering as it hit the ground and a knife tore through his slave garments. 

As soon as he was undressed, with two guards at the door, elderly hands shoved him into the water, a trio of old women fussing over him as they worked. “Dirty, dirty,” one of them rasped. Aven grimaced as wrinkled fingers ripped through his hair, cutting and snipping away at curled locks. 

It wasn’t the first time Aven had been washed like this.He had washed before with the buckets of water the slaves were given in their cells, but he only visited these baths when given *special* assignments by Joran.

He slammed his eyes shut and ignored the coarse cloths that scrubbed roughly at his entire body until there wasn’t a single bit of exposed flesh - sensitive or not - that hadn’t been rubbed raw and stung red. 

The waxing… the waxing was painful. Strips of hot wax were laid out over his chest, legs, arms and jaw, peeling and pulling bits of hair that had Aven flinching until he was utterly bare and smooth. 

“Is this the fashion of Aelorian nobility now?” He muttered. “To be as hairless as a newborn babe?” He winced at the sharp hand that rapped at his wrist. 

“Quiet!” One of the women quipped, dragging him out of the baths. Aven was fitted with silks of scarlet and gold, the garments much too light and revealing for this climate. 

The guards entered the room as one of the elderly women fastened a golden sash around Aven’s waist. The tips of their spears crackled with electricity in their grasps. “The Prince awaits,” one of them growls. 

Aven swallowed the knot of terror growing like a tumor in his throat. “Then let’s not keep him waiting.”

They started down the long hall leading to the slave gallery. “You are not to speak unless spoken to,” one of the guards grunted in his ear. “You will address the prince as Your Highness, and fall to your knees when you greet him. Do I make myself clear?”

“Transparently.”

The slave gallery was one of the more sumptuous areas of the arena - given that it’s one of the few places nobility actually gets to see. Golden tiles covered the floor, and mosaic designs of bloody battles and slavery decorated the walls. Chandeliers of silver drip down from the ceiling. There’s no mistaking the posts that jut out from the great pillars holding aloft the ceiling - places where slaves would be chained as they’re viewed by potential buyers. 

Approaching, a cool voice began to find Aven as it echoed across the room. “-a diplomatic mission to Faerun. Amn, in particular. A waste of time. Faerunians are loathsome oafs.”

“Amn?” The voice of Joran. “My lord, of all countries of Faerun to visit, you should feel fortunate to visit Amn. Beautiful countryside! It’s known as the Merchant’s Domain for a reason, you know.”

“And yet they’ve outlawed magic even in their most prominent city. I find that distasteful in itself.”

Aven and his escorts drew closer. He could see his master standing beside the young Prince, looking as though he were about to piss himself in anticipation. Prince Lucian held frigid disinterest upon his features as he half listened. As soon as Aven entered into the room, the young man’s eyes locked on him, freezing Aven in place. 

"It’s about time.” He approached, hands locked behind his back. “When you’re summoned, you’re expected to arrive in a moment’s notice. Or were you not taught simple courtesy.” 

He was speaking directly to him. Aven spoke around his tied tongue. “I was washing, your highness. The Prince of Aeliorn can’t be presented a dirty slave.”

“Right you are.” He turned to Joran. “Tell me about your slave.”

“His name is Aven,” Joran said as a small, pale hand reached out and snatched Aven’s jaw. “He came to us when he was twelve years old. He participated in his first battle when he was fourteen. Since then, he’s become our fiercest fighter and our champion.”

“Aven.” Lucian’s thumb was between his teeth, holding his jaw open and sharp blue eyes inspected his purchase with interest. “At the very least, your teeth aren’t rotting out,” he muttered. “Very nice..” He released Aven, circling and probing the man as though he were admiring a work of fine art in a museum. Aven’s dark eyes followed him. “ _Very_ nice. However, I can’t say I approve of these… blemishes.” Coming around to Aven’s back, his smooth fingers traced the jagged scar between his shoulders. “How did you acquire this?”

Aven’s body was stiff against the prince’s touches. “I was pitted against a griffin.”

“Impressive.” He didn’t sound even remotely impressed. “Perhaps our healers will be able to remove them. Scars are quite ugly.” He stepped back. “All right, Joran.” Lucian spun to face the slave master. “I’ll take him." 

He tossed a sack to the man who snatched it in midair with a clatter of coins.

“Your charity is much appreciated, your highness,” Joran said, sweeping into a bow. 

“Prepare my carriage. I will have the rest of your pay sent by-”

“Wait.” Joran and Prince Lucian turned to Aven, the former appearing appalled that he even opened his mouth. Aven swallowed and took a step forward. “I can’t leave yet.”

“And why not?” Prince Lucian demanded.

“I need my friend.”

A thin, blonde brow arched. “Your friend.” He looked to Joran. “I thought I was only purchasing one slave. I don’t need two.”

“No, no, your highness!” Joran assured with a stammer. “He simply means-”

“My lion,” Aven said bluntly. “He’s my most precious companion, and I refuse to leave without him.” 

Aven knew a lash would come as soon as the defiant words left his lips. He had no regrets. He would die before he abandoned his closest friend to the arena. 

Joran drew the whip at his side. Aven’s back tightened in anticipation of the now familiar sting of barbed lashes against skin. But the whip didn’t come. He dared to open an eye. Prince Lucian stood in front of him, a hand grasping the whip. “I will not have my slave further marred by your barbaric brutality,” he snapped. He turned to Aven. “This lion, is it the same you fought beside against the chimera?”

Aven recovered from the shock of being spared a whipping. “I…yes, your highness. His name is Kion.”

“Kion.” Lucian repeated. “A strong name.” He considered for a moment. “…I’ve never owned a lion before. He’ll make quite the addition to my menagerie. Very well. Collect your lion. You will then meet us outside the arena at my carriage.”

Aven stared at him, stunned statue still. “You’re letting me..?” He shook his head, pushing down the relief that threatened to send him to his knees. He bowed his head low. “Thank you, your highness. I’ll collect him. Thank you.”

“I expect you there in ten minutes.” Without another word, Lucian waved his hand and he was escorted by his entourage of guards out of the room, Joran talking his ear off about how he ‘ _won’t regret this purchas_ e.’ 

Aven didn’t move for a moment as he stared at the tunnel they disappeared through. This purchase. He still couldn’t believe this was happening. This morning, he’d woken up prepared to kill whatever he was faced with in the arena before retiring to his room. His routine every day, without fail - save for his ‘special assignments.’ 

And now… now he was leaving the arena forever to spend the rest of his life as the slave to an arrogant, priss ass little Prince.

Aven wasn’t sure _which_ he preferred. There was security in familiarity. He tore away from the slave gallery and picked his way through the labyrinth of tunnels towards the beast pens. 

Pushing through the door he was met with the thick aroma of straw, feces and rotting meat. His eyes scanned the beasts that padded about and circled in their cages. Griffins and dire wolves and hydras. As soon as they spotted Aven, the room was filled with the sound of furious roars, jaws snapping and paws clawing through the bars of their cages. 

Aven strode past them, unflinching and uncaring as he approached the only beast that mattered. “Hey, buddy,” Aven soothed, lowering to his knees in front of the cage. Kion was curled up towards the back of his pen, and lifted his mighty head curiously at the sight of his owner. “We’re getting out of here,” Aven said, plucking the keys off of a nearby post and fit them into the lock. “We’re going someplace better. You’ll have so much more room and space to run. But I bet you’ll just sleep all day anyways, won’t you?”

His only friend for so many years, Aven had a tendency to speak with the lion as though he were sentient. And at times, he was sure Kion could understand every word he said. The lion padded lazily out of his cage, pushing his mighty head against Aven’s chest. Calloused fingers ran through his mane. “Come on, buddy,” he murmured. “Can’t keep his ‘highness’ waiting.”

The Beast Tamer and his mighty lion left the pens, and on their way back towards the arena’s exit, Aven could smell the pungent and unmistakable odor of death. Turning the corner - he immediately spotted the source. A pile of bodies being loaded up onto a wagon. At first, Aven paid it no mind. Death was unavoidable when you lived in an environment that relished in murder. These must have been the gladiators slain in the last battle. He went to pass…when something caught his eye. 

Bile rose up into his throat, boots frozen in the room’s entry. 

A young boy was being carelessly loaded up onto the wagon, thrown on top of the pile of bodies like a sack of grain. His eyes stared wide and lifeless, mouth twisted into a scream of terror. Blood stained his hair… and his breastplate hung ever loose on his small shoulders. 

“The hell are you looking at?” One of the guards snarled, stirring Aven from his shock. 

“I..” Aven couldn’t form a single word. His gaze was locked on Tallin’s young face. 

_When you come back…why don’t we visit the horses? We can find the one you like. Shadow._

_Promise?_

_I promise._

He never got to keep that promise. Aven grit his teeth. His jaw slid forward and without another word pushed forward, ignoring the sting in his palm as nails cut into his skin. 

——————————–

Stepping outside the arena, Aven winced as his eyes adjusted to the daylight. When his vision finally cleared…he found he couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. How long had it been since he’d seen the streets of Exthellion..? It’s exactly as Aven remembered it. Men and women in brilliantly coloured silks walked paths of white limestone. Every building and tower seemed to be built of polished ivory, barble and silver with gemstones pressed into buildings held up by curving columns. Rich in magic, beautiful ships sailed overhead and children played about in the streets, practicing cantrips with magic sparking at their fingertips. 

But it wasn’t home. It was unfamiliar and alien. A world he’s had no part of for nearly a decade. 

“Slave.”

Lucian stood beside a golden and white carriage parked at the foot of the stairs leading up to the arena. He tapped his foot impatiently. “You’re late.”

“Apologies,” Aven murmured, guiding Kion down. “This is Kion.”

Prince Lucian regarded the beast. “Looks healthy enough. Do you trust him to follow without eating one of my citizens for lunch?”

“Kion won’t attack anyone unless they give him a reason to. Or unless I tell him.”

To any other, the challenge would have been indetectable. Lucian’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Well,” Lucian murmured. “We wouldn’t want that. As much as I’d love to see how that cat would look as a throw rug, I much prefer my animals alive. Get in the carriage.”

Aven swallowed his retort and rested his hand on his lion’s head. “Follow us,” he commands before climbing up into the carriage. 

It was the closest he’d been to Lucian yet. With just the pair of them inside, it made the otherwise large carriage seem that much smaller. His body felt tense with apprehension as it began to rumble and roll down the city’s streets. 

Lucian said nothing. He was writing down in a scroll, his quill skimming over the parchment. Aven leaned over a bit to see. The words spun. They shifted about until his head hurt and the man grimaced, leaning back. “What are you writing..?”

“Inventory.”

“Inventory..?”

Lucian sighed. He glanced upwards with a frown. “Inventory. It means… keeping track of what you have. I need to make sure I have everything I need for my voyage to Amn.” He paused. “Can you read and write, slave? Perhaps you could help.”

“I-”

“No, of course you can’t. No one would waste their time teaching a slave how to write.”

Aven ground his teeth. “Right. Why bother having an educated slave?”

“Slaves are meant to be uneducated. They clean, they wash, they light candles and at times, they lie limp as they’re fucked into the bed. None of their work requires the skill of literacy.”

“And what is meant to be _my_ duty, your highness.”

"I’ve actually been thinking about how I would best put your skills to use,” Lucian admits, setting down his quill to now give Aven his full attention. “I thought, perhaps I could force you into my army. A soldier, perhaps graced with the benefit of becoming captain one day. But you’d be too far away for my taste. There’s no doubt you’d find a way to escape.”

“You give me too much credit,” Aven muttered. “I’m but a barbaric slave." 

"Quite,” Lucian agreed. “But one with a semblance of aptitude, and that will not do.”

“I also considered making you my bodyguard. It would be foolish to cast aside your undoubtable talent in combat. But I hesitate at the idea of giving you a weapon. Half my guard would be dead before they could even think to draw their weapons." 

This boy sure did like to run his mouth. Aven’s jaw slid forward. “So what would you wish of me, considering you’ve been thinking so very long and hard about it.”

Lucian didn’t have a chance to answer. The door was thrown open and a portly man fitted in red silks gave a low bow. “Your highness,” he sang. “Welcome back to the Ivory Palace!”

Aven slipped out and gaped up at the massive castle. Blindingly white and surrounded by beautiful green gardens and living topiaries, it was enough to draw one’s breath away. And everywhere… guards. Guards wearing crimson and gold, armed with vicious looking weapons. 

The change of scenery had Aven’s stomach churning with discomfort. 

Approaching, they entered into the courtyard where Aven could see a number of strange and beautiful creatures meandering about. Peacocks strutting about, feathers spread out across their backs and pale white deer with silvery antlers. “Take the beast to the menagerie,” Lucian was ordering a guard. “You, follow me.” He turned to leave… then paused. “Do you have a name?”

“I do, your highness,” he said. “Aven Kheistan. Though I can’t say it gets much use.”

“Aven Kheistan.” Lucian tested the name on his tongue. He nodded and gestured for Aven to follow him inside the castle. Aven’s eyes remained locked onto his lion until the moment he was dragged out of sight, and with a shuddering breath, followed Lucian inside the Ivory Palace. 

It was as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside. Halls trimmed with gold. Paintings of the royal family lined the halls. Passing by several compositions, Aven’s feet stilled as his gaze landed on one, larger and grander in comparison to the others. 

The royal family. Young Lucian Arceneaux, perhaps seven years old standing between his parents. Proud Aimeric Arceneaux, and his beautiful wife, Estelle Arceneaux. The two benevolent rulers of Aeliorn.

Until their deaths, of course.

Aven tore his gaze away from the painting and caught up to Lucian. “We strive to live an eloquent life here in the castle,” the Prince was saying. “We typically don’t have slaves here, but servants. You will be treated well. But make no mistake.” Lucian suddenly spun on his heel, pale fingers clutching the metallic collar clamped around Aven’s neck. He pulled the barbarian’s face close to his. “You belong to me. You will do as I say. And if I ever sense any… disloyalty, you will be snuffed out. Do I make myself clear.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Lucian released the man, gesturing for him to keep up. They entered Lucian’s bed chambers, and the Prince closed the door behind him as Aven took in his surroundings. A massive bed with crimson canopies draped in lavish materials and royal colours dominated the room. A crystal chandelier hung from a golden ceiling and in the back, a balcony looked out over the entire city with morning glory and ivy winding about the railings. It was a far cry from anything he’d ever seen before and as he stands within the room, an overwhelmed expression finally dawns on him. 

Yet, something caught his attention. No mementos. No paintings. No decoration. 

“You asked me what use I had for you,” Lucian continued, making his way over to his bed where he sat down, pulling on the twine keeping his braid into place. “I have your answer. 

You will follow me. You will lay out my clothes and bring me food. You will tend to my needs, whatever they may be. You will defend me when I’m in danger and lay down your life on my command. Can you dance?“

 _Can you dance._ His features crumbled for a moment against its natural sculpt. A memory that passed over his mind of dancing. Whatever the memory, it was one Aven couldn’t latch on to. "I know nothing other than fighting, my lord. I’d pity those forced to watch me dance.”

As Lucian tended to his hair, Aven could have sworn he saw his thin lips twist upwards into a smirk. “Oh? I was quite sure I’d purchased not only a warrior, but a dancing monkey.” He glanced over. Icy challenge swept over his gaze. “A shame. Seems I was lied to. Perhaps I’ll have you take lessons from the court fool.” He waved his hand. “No matter. If I wanted a court fool, I would have purchased a court fool. And you are no fool.” He turned his attention to his work spread out on his desk. Maps and charts and tables, all of it lost on Aven. 

He stood in the midst of Lucian’s room, uncertain of what to do. “Your highness,” Aven dared to say after a moment. “A question, if I may.”

“What is it?” Lucian replied distractedly, scratching down notes in the corner of a journal page. 

“Why is it that you’ve come to acquire me, exactly? You don’t seem like a man short of staff." 

Lucian didn’t answer for a long while. Aven was sure he was simply ignoring him as he continued to mark notes on his parchment and refer to open books. Then he stood. He closed the distance between them and was soon only inches from Aven. So close he could feel his breath on his neck. 

“Why don’t you take a guess." 

To Aven’s shock - Lucian reached out. Delicate fingers that never worked a day in their lives straightened the silk fabric across his shoulders before slipping under to brush over warm skin. Aven was immediately silenced. His jaws and muscles tensed as he felt cold hands lowering down to his abdomen, brushing over scars that decorated his body. 

Aven dared to meet Lucian’s cold eyes. "You wish for intimacy from me.”

“That’s right. It seems you’re not as dumb as the other brutes you fight with. When I first saw you, and you met my eye… I wanted you. And I always get what I want.” He draws away now to take up a brush in hand and pulls it through his hair. “Have you ever slept with someone, Aven?”

Aven couldn’t help the way his face fumed with a deep shade of red. He was wracked with embarrassment… and anger. 

It seems nothing had changed, after all. 

“…you would not be the first, my lord,” Aven said, voice low. “I think we both know how money driven my former master could be.”

“I’m sure he’s led many sluts into your bed. But don’t be so disheartened, Aven.” Lucian sat down in the chair beside his desk. “You’ll get whatever you want here. You may be mine, but I treat my possessions with care. Whatever you desire, it shall be yours. So long as you do as I say. Now - attend me.”

Aven was still frozen in place. His heart pounded, with disbelief and anger. Chained to the hip of this boy who wished to use him as a filthy pleasure slave hidden under the guise of modesty. 

He grit his teeth and swept forward, settling his fingers at the top of the long string of knots and ties that fell down Lucian’s spine. They stilled. Aven pursed his lips. "I…I don’t know how to..”

“You don’t know how to untie a knot? Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to tie your shoes.”

A fresh swell of anger rose in Aven. “…it was my father,” he uttered, fingers clumsily working away at the elaborate fastenings. “We just require only a single knot rather than a hundred. And we’re perfectly capable of undressing ourselves.”

It was tantalizingly slow work. Aven was sure he must have been standing there for half an hour before he finished, drawing Lucian’s dark blue jacket off his figure. Why was he doing this. Surely there were servants more equipped to handle undressing the Prince. Soon, Lucian stood, torso bare to Aven. He felt himself unconsciously averting his eyes, keeping his gaze from roaming over the Prince’s figure - until he saw the glint of steel being kissed by candlelight.

Lucian approached, twirling a knife expertly between his fingers. Aven’s every muscle was tensed, eyes locked on the weapon. “One more thing I’d like for you to do,” Lucian said. His soft hands grasped Aven’s, drawing the tips of the man’s fingers up to his jaw where Aven could feel a bit of fuzz from fresh stubble growing in. “Shave me.”

He pressed the knife into Aven’s palm and took a seat on the bed. 

Aven’s heart threatened to burst from his chest as he stared at the steel flickering crimson and gold in the soft glow. He had a knife in his hand. A knife in his hand, and the Prince unprotected before him.

…he could kill him so quickly. One stab, and he’d be free. Free of chains. Free of shackles. 

But he couldn’t. His fingers trembled with rage. As much as he wanted to…. he was bound. To protect him. To keep him safe…and Lucian knew it. Aven didn’t miss the way his lip curved up into the smallest of smirks before resuming his regal features once again. 

He knew Aven had nowhere to go. 

He knew he was all Aven had.

The knife was an insult. A taunt. 

Aven stepped forward. He gripped the knife so tight his knuckles were white. His calloused hands touched Lucian’s jaw, tilting his head upwards. Lucian abided, eyes closed as he turned his face towards the ceiling, neck exposed. 

He didn’t move for a long while. He stared at the delicate curve of Lucian’s throat. “Well?” Lucian asked, brow arching. “I’d like to sleep soon.”

Aven drew a sharp breath. He flipped the knife into position, lowered down and drew the knife slowly and carefully over Lucian’s jaw.

“Yes, your highness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find more of this story at https://capturedhearts.tumblr.com/


	4. Bedwhore

Aven had prepared himself for a night dedicated to pleasuring the Prince. Physically and mentally. After all - that was what he was purchased for, yes? As Lucian bathed, Aven drew himself and the Prince a glass of wine - he sure as hell would need it. His fingers drew off his clothes, letting them flutter to the floor and positioned himself on the bed. **  
**

He swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat. After all. He’s done this before. Fuck him. Or perhaps be fucked. Whichever the Prince desired. Shut down until it was over. Sleep.

Repeat.

He felt the lurch in his stomach as the door opened. Silver silks dripped down the Prince’s body as he slid the door closed behind him, candlelight lifting up off of fair skin. Water still clung to the ends of his hair, and every step he took, it splashed across the marble floor as he approached, wringing the moisture out of blonde locks. 

He paused halfway to the bed, eyes locked on Aven.

“….what are you doing.”

Aven blinked, bewildered. He slowly sat up. “…presenting myself to you, your highness.”

“I did not ask you to.”

Confusion swelled. Aven hesitated. Was this… perhaps a test? He chose his words carefully. “You purchased me to pleasure you,” he says. “Here I am.”

“Tsch.” Lucian approached. He folded his arms, eyes drawing up and down Aven’s figure. “Here you are. All limp and prettied up like some Zakharan doll.” He pushed fingers tiredly through his hair. “You don’t interest me right now.”

Relief flooded through him. But he didn’t show it. Aven swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I understand. I’ll ah…show myself out. If you could have your guards show me-”

“No.”

“No?”

Lucian sat down beside him. “I don’t remember excusing you. I may not be using you tonight, but you are still mine. You will sleep beside me.”

Aven didn’t complain. While sleeping beside the Prince certainly wasn’t ideal - it was better than the alternative. Aven spread himself out over the bed as Lucian retrieved the glass of wine that Aven had poured, considering it a moment before tilting it down his throat.

He didn’t come to bed for a long while. Lucian sat at his desk, pouring over scrolls and missives and maps, eyes drawing over the words. Aven had tried to peek at them once. His head swam. The words practically floated off the page. 

Sleep didn’t come. He lay on his side, watching Lucian work in the candlelight. Finally, curiosity got the best of him. “I don’t know how you can make sense of those scribbles,” he muttered.

“Those scribbles hold more value than any spoken word,” Lucian promised. 

“What are you doing?”

Lucian leaned back. As he rubbed his tired eyes, Aven was sure he was going to leave the question unanswered. But he heaved a breath. “I’m studying the customs of Amn. For the voyage.”

The diplomatic mission to Amn. Aven had heard much about it, from passing nobles and soldiers. “And you’re sure I’m to accompany you?”

“Yes. And as such… I should probably educate you.” He leans back, turning now to face Aven fully. “Have you ever heard of Amn.”

“No.”

“Amn is also known as the Merchant’s Domain. It’s a country on the Sword Coast - which is the western coast of Faerun. It’s perhaps one of the wealthiest nations in all of Toril. And perhaps one of the most ignorant.”

“How so?”

“They scorn magic. Even in their capital of Athkatla, magic is forbidden. It’s ruled by an Oligarchy-”

“A what?”

Lucian flashed him an irritated look. “Oligarchy,” he repeated, slowly. “It means a nation ruled by a small amount of people. In this case, the Council of Five.”

Aven’s head was swimming. “And you can learn all of this from scribbles on parchment?”

“Not scribbles. Script. But yes. Perhaps one day I’ll even have my mentor teach you some simple phrases. You’d be much more useful.”

Aven grimaced. “Thanks,” he muttered. 

Lucian continued. About the structure of their government. Their imports. Their exports. And Aven found himself falling asleep halfway through, passing out on the lush, soft pillows.

When he woke up several hours later, the candles were snuffed out. Silver starlight glowed through the balcony curtains, illuminating the lithe figure in front of him.

Aven found himself staring. At the softness of fair skin. At the length of golden blonde hair that fell around his sleeping shoulders. The shape of his body. Heat rose up onto his cheeks. He grunted, rolling over so that his back was to the Prince’s.

No. None of that. He was here to survive, not coddle the priss Prince.

He had to stay focused. 

——————————————–

When Aven woke that morning, an outfit was laid out for him on the bed - more opulent than anything he’d ever worn. A beautiful ensemble of a crimson tunic with a golden belt, buttons and stitching. He scarcely knew how to put the thing on, wrestling it over his head. It strategically showed off his great assets - sleeveless and showing his chest. Aven grimaced and sighed, pushing up off the bed… and looked about the room.

Lucian was gone.

Was he expected to just…. Wait around for him to return? Is that what slaves did? No. Aven wasn’t going to be cooped up in this room like some glamored up pet. 

If this was his new home - he was going to take the time to explore it.

He edged the door open and poked his head out. The hallway was clear. He sucked in a breath and parted from the Prince’s room into the expanse of the castle.

It was utterly massive. Aven could imagine how easy it would be to get lost. There were countless numbers of twisting passages and stairways. He passed by an exquisite library filled with thousands upon thousands of books, the bed chambers of lesser nobles who’d taken up residence in the castle, kitchens and storages. 

He ran into a number of servants and guards and nobles. The guards stuck their noses at him with sneers and grimaces, and the courtiers ignored him as though he weren’t even there. _That_ , he was used to.

It was the servants that had Aven’s head spinning. 

As he was walking down the hallway, distracted by the weaponry and suits of armor that decorated the edges, his shoulder crashed against a young elven woman who carried a bundle of supplies. They went crashing to the floor, and he had only just begun to lower down to help when she fell to her knees, swiftly gathering them into her arms. “Apologies, my lord! I’ll clean this right up, my lord!” She stammered. 

Aven’s mouth floundered. He hadn’t yet even managed a word before she was rushing off down the hall and disappearing around the corner. 

It seems even pleasure slaves held status above others here. Aven wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. He’d never been ‘above’ anyone in his life. 

And it seemed here, the elves only held positions of squalor within the castle. Servants. Cooking assistants. Aven knew that elves were considered to be of ‘lower class,’ but he’d never seen the discrimination so rampant until he witnessed it first hand in the castle. 

Eventually, Aven found himself out on the battlements. It was a fine day, the sun a comfortable glow in the sky warming his skin. He breathed in the fresh air, brown eyes sweeping out over the palace grounds as calloused fingers curved around the battlements. 

The palace from above was perhaps even more exquisite than down below. Aven could see everything. He could see the balcony walking aisles curving around the castle for nobles to take their stroll and enjoy views fit for a King. He could see the ivory white towers piercing into the low hanging, lazy clouds. He could see the lush green gardens sweeping out over the courtyard, bursting and blooming with flowers of every shape, size and colour. And he could see…

Aven’s heart surged with excitement as he leaned forward. A training ground. It was in an expanse of grass behind the castle. Perhaps Aven could get his hands on a weapon down there, spar away some of the anger that lingered suppressed in his chest. 

And afterwards - perhaps he could find Kion. 

Aven navigated the castle down to the grounds. The training field seemed to be divided by division. The soldiers trained in a mass, lines upon lines of them mimicking the stances and maneuvers of their captain. He shouted orders, naming off stances which they followed clumsily. It was immediately apparent that these men were nothing more than farmhands plucked from their homes to serve in the military. They couldn’t handle a weapon to save their lives. Further towards the back however, was another group.

They didn’t wear the standard leather garb of the common soldier. Elven chain was draped over their athletic frames, wielding all manners of weapons. But their stances…. Aven had never seen anything like it. In the arena - you were simply thrown a weapon, taught a couple stances and thrown into the jaws of the wolf. But this - this was different. 

Curiously, he approached. The captain seemed to be calling out orders in another language… elven? Every motion they took, mimicking his were fluid, controlled, precise. And before Aven’s eyes, after a single command from their superior, they threw their weapons into the air with a twirl and upon grasping them again, the blades were lit up with flame.

Aven gave a low whistle, settling down to watch as the captain paired up a couple of his men to fight. He knew that the Aelorian militia frequently used magic in battle - but this technique seemed to perfectly combine the arcane and combat. Fluid. Graceful. As their swords clashed it was more like a dance than a battle and Aven found himself mesmerized. 

He pushed up and made his way over. 

“Excuse me,” he called out as he approached the captain. “I’d like to ask a question.”

The captain tore his eyes away from his men and drew off his helmet. His face reminded Aven like that of a bulldog’s. Squashed, with harsh brown eyes underneath bushy dark brows. 

“What.”

“Can’t help but notice all of your men are well trained,” Aven began. “Surely there’s an arena or a place to spar? Could you direct me?”

The captain didn’t respond. He drew his eyes up and down Aven’s features, still wearing his expensive if revealing silks. He barked a laugh that held no humor. “Is the Prince putting real spears in the hands of his sluts now?” He sneered. He turned his gaze away. “This isn’t the place for you. Return to your master’s bed, dog.”

Aven’s jaw slid forward. “I am no slut,” he said. His voice was low and he took a swift bold step towards the captain. “Put a sword in my hands and you’ll see for yourself how quickly you will drop.”

The threat had several of the soldiers glancing over in curiosity. Something that did not go unnoticed by the captain. After all - he had an image to maintain. 

“As if I’d waste time trading blows with bed whores,” he snapped. 

“Why.” Aven smirked. A glint of challenge glowed in his gaze. “Are you afraid to embarrass yourself in front of your men?”

The pair had everyone’s immediate attention. The captain’s jaw twitched. “The Prince will have to forgive me,” he growled, drawing his blade. Aven’s stomach flared with excitement. “For teaching his whore a lesson about manners. Let’s see what this Beast Tamer is made of.”

He expected for a weapon to be placed in his hands. This man was a soldier of Aeliorn, like his father. Surely he wouldn’t- the breath was knocked from his lungs as the flat of the blade slammed into his chest, sending him staggering back. The men gathered hollered, laughing as the captain approached again, his grip on his blade tight. 

No. Aven had forgotten. 

His father had been the only man of honor among the soldiers of Aeliorn.

Another swing towards his shoulder. Aven braced himself, twisting away to dull the impact of the strike to his shoulder. An ache blossomed in his arm. 

_Not yet._

Another blow to his side, sending him nearly tumbling backwards onto the grass. The captain’s face was lit up with glee. 

_Not yet._

Another swing. This time towards his neck. Hard enough to potentially break it if it struck. 

_Play time’s over, mother fucker._

Aven’s fist shot upwards and crashed into the captain’s jaw. Blood spattered. A tooth went flying. The sword passed a hairwidth over Aven’s head. The captain reeled back in shock and Aven’s other fist grasped his wrist and with a painful twist there was a snap and his sword went flying. 

The captain hadn’t even hit the ground before Aven’s fingers snatched the sword in midair. Then Aven was down on his knees. 

His fist slammed into the captain’s jaw. More blood burst from his mouth. Aven couldn’t hear the sounds of the soldiers standing around them, shouting at him. _Red_. Another punch into his stomach, sending the captain lurching forward with a choked gasp. He couldn’t see it. Couldn’t hear it. _Red_. Another punch to his face, snapping his head to the side. _RED_. 

There was nothing but the pounding of blood in his ears. 

“Stop it, that’s enough!” 

Arms wrapped around Aven’s waist and struggled to heave him away. Aven’s head pounded. His muscles were tight, like the string of a bow pulled back to the ear. As he was pulled away - he was reclaimed by his senses. The dull throb of split knuckles. The sounds of the soldiers fussing over their captain who lay a bloody pulp on the ground, cursing up a storm. 

“You done yet?” A voice whispered in his ear. 

Aven didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Not yet. His attention was stolen by the captain staggering up to his feet, swiping the back of his hand across his bloodied mouth. “I’ll fucking kill that whoreson!” He snarled, and with a hiss of steel, pulled a sword from the belt of a nearby soldier. 

He approached. Aven braced himself, lips pulled back in a snarl - when the soldier who pulled him back stepped forward, removing his helm to stare down the captain. “No, you won’t.”

Young. Several years younger than himself, with fair skin, light blue eyes and mousy brown hair. Certainly the youngest of the men here. 

Not that the captain seemed to mind. His expression held an intent to kill as he stormed up to him. “Out of my way,” he spat out. “You saw what he did. To strike a captain is a-”

“Against the law,” the boy nodded. “An unarmed slave overwhelmed the captain of the Duskblades in less than ten seconds. Whatever would the Prince say about this? In fact…”

The boy glanced over his shoulder at Aven. “Are you not the property of the Prince?”

Property. Deciding he’d stretched his luck far enough today, he merely grit his teeth and nodded. “I thought so. And you, Captain Vros were threatening to damage the Prince’s property, which I believe is an act of treason.”

The man’s face paled. “How dare you, you little wretch-”

“Of course, I could always just alert my father. I’m sure he could sort all of this-”

Captain Vros waved his hand. “No,” he growled with a stumble. “He’s been taught his lesson.”

The boy nodded. “A lesson has most definitely been learned. Shall I call you a medic?”

Captain Vros gave no response. Merely glowered at the two before limping towards the rest of his men. 

The boy sighed and turned towards Aven. “Ah…sorry about him,” he responded with a smile, sending fingers through his hair. “He can be…. A bit stubborn.”

“That’s something he and I have in common,” Aven grunted. He was coming to. “Thank you…?”

“Icarus. Icarus Tevellion. Your name is Aven, right?”

Trevellion. Aven had heard the name when listening to Lucian’s rambles. “That’s right. Well thanks, Icarus, but your help wasn’t really needed.”

“Oh, yes it was.” A brow arched and Icarus folded his arms. “You were gone. If I’d just stood by - you would have killed him. And the last thing you need is to kill someone on your first day here. Even if you are the Prince’s new bedwhore.”

“I’m not a whore,” Aven snapped. 

Icarus lifted his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. Glorified servant. Either way - if you’re going to survive here, you can’t just be knocking out every fool who looks at you the wrong way. That might have been how things worked in the arena, but the palace requires a bit more tact.”

“All I wanted was to just find the sparring ring,” Aven said, massaging his temple. “I didn’t… I didn’t _want_ to do that to him, it just..happened.”

“You could fight me.”

Aven’s gaze snapped up. “…really?”

“Sure.” Icarus flushed. He stepped forward and beamed. “I’ve actually watched you in the arena before. You were always my favorite, I was excited when I heard Luci-” he flushed. “I mean, the Prince bought you. You’re basically free now, right?”

Aven snorted. “Sure, if you consider being everyone’s eye candy, being called a whore, having to rely on everything being provided to me and having to follow the prince around like a dog then sure, I’m living the life.”

“But you’re here,” Icarus reminded. “Fed, in clean clothes and outside in the fresh air by your own choice. Something tells me that’s better than rotting away in some cell eating scraps.” He was right. But Aven would never admit it. “Maybe you can show me some of the things you’ve learned, and I can teach you some duskblade magic.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to learn the magic,” Aven said. “But… those stances you held out there were impressive. Sounds like a fair trade to me.”

————————————————-

The training room of the Ivory Palace wasn’t anything like the one back at the arena. Back in the bloodpens, the floor had been stained red. The weapons were rusted, and hung from crude racks on the walls. The floor here was pristine. Made of marble, an elven man was mopping it up when Aven and Icarus entered, a quick snap of fingers sending him away. “Take your pick!” Icarus said with a smile, motioning to the numerous weapons hung up on the weapon racks. “I favor the glaive, myself. You’ll probably pick the axes, right? That’s like your signature weapon.”

The kid sure did talk a lot. Aven plucked a pair of twin axes off the wall. “That’s right. So this technique… what did you call it? Duskblade?”

"A duskblade,” Icarus explained. “Blurs the line between spellcaster and warrior. We’re students of ancient elven spellcasting techniques.” He ran his hand over the blade of his glaive and it erupted into red hot flame. “It requires constant training. We have to simultaneously be a swords master and a spellcaster.”

“You study ancient elven spellcasting,” Aven noted. “And yet keep the elves locked up as glorified slaves.”

“A lot’s happened over a thousand years,” Icarus said. “While times have changed, we can at the very least take advantage of what the elven empires left behind.”

“Sounds like an excuse to me.” 

“Why don’t you talk less with your mouth and come at me,” Icarus challenged with a grin, twirling his glaive. 

Aven didn’t hesitate. Gripping his axes tight, he flung himself forward, his teeth vibrating as his axe slammed against the glaive’s hilt. The second axe came swinging in from the side - and Icarus was gone. Dancing to the side, his feet ever moving, he dodged out of the way, glaive striking out towards Aven’s hip before being deflected away with an axe. 

“Pretty good,” Aven grunted. “You sure do skip around a lot.”

“Not everyone has your build. Some of us have to compensate,” Icarus panted. He curved his glaive around to try and jab it into Aven’s shoulder and he was side stepping. 

“So your father,” Aven said. “Who is he? He sounds important.” Conversing even in the midst of battle, he side stepped and masterfully deflected blows - and Icarus kept up, sidestepping Aven’s powerful attacks.

“Ceril Trevellion,” he panted. “Advisor to King Darrien.”

“Keep hearing a lot about this King Darrien. Haven’t seen him yet.”

“You probably wouldn’t. He doesn’t show himself often.” He was getting distracted. Too comfortable with talking. Aven took the chance. He ducked down low, catching Icarus’ legs with the flat of his blades and with a wrench to the side, they flew out from under him. He landed hard on his back with a grunt as Aven snatched his glaive and leaned on it idly. 

“Damn,” Icarus hissed, rubbing his bum. “You _are_ good.”

“You really thought after watching me cut off the heads of chimeras, griffins and who knows what else that you could take me down?”

“No,” Icarus admitted, grasping Aven’s hand as he pulled him to his feet. “I just wanted to check you out for myself.” He grinned. “I’m not disappointed. How about this time, I teach you some magic?”

Aven hesitated. “…I don’t think so.”

“What? Come on. Everyone knows magic.”

“Not me.”

Icarus scoffed. He retrieved his glaive. “Aven, kids can perform magic. It wouldn’t take long. I bet I’d have you casting at least something in-”

“No. Icarus, I mean I actually can’t.”

Icarus’ reaction was the same as all the others. Confusion. His brows furrowed. “What do you mean you can’t? Everyone has mana.”

“No. Not me… not my family.” Aven heaved a sigh. He prepared himself for the onslaught of insults as he retreated back towards one of the tables along the wall to pour himself a glass of water from a pitcher. “My family has never had mana. Not even a single drop. Not me. Not my sister. Not my dad. The entire Kheistan family..” he paused. “My father thinks it was a curse from ages ago. And now…”

“Now you can’t use it… at all? Is that why you’re such a good warrior? Because you had to…compensate?”

Aven’s smile was more of a grimace. “I think I’m just such a good fighter because I had to be in order to survive.”

“You don’t have to do that anymore.” Icarus leaned against the table, eyes searching him. “You don’t have to fight anymore.”

Aven didn’t answer for a long while. Finally, he pushed out a sigh, a tired smile clinging to his lip. “…I always have to fight.” He glanced over. “Come on. Why don’t I show you a few moves.”

—————————————–

It was in the late evening when Aven finally parted from Icarus to find Lucian. Icarus was surprisingly enjoyable to spend time with. He gave Aven a tour of the stables to show him his favourite horse, he brought him to the menagerie to see Kion and ensure he was being cared for. When it was finally time to locate the Prince, Icarus told him he would be in his private training quarters being tutored by his mentor, Caesar. 

The day had taken pounds of stress off of his shoulders. He felt lighter. Calmer. Maybe the palace wouldn’t be so bad. He could make a friend here. He could-

He turned the corner. A group of guards were standing about, smoking cigars and muttering to one another. 

Aven’s stomach immediately twisted at the sight of them. 

They glowered at him, muttering to one another, uttering slurs under their breath as he passed. “Bedwhore,” one grunted and Aven slammed his eyes closed, seizing control of his temper. 

No. He wouldn’t ever be at home here. 

He followed Icarus’ instruction. Or, at least tried to. Down the corridor, two rights, then a left, then up two flights of stairs, another left and… or was it… right? No. Left…right? He was hopelessly lost when he heard it. 

A thunderous boom that shook the palace. Then another. And another. 

Aven started in that direction. 

The sounds were echoing from behind a door, a sigil carved on the front. It could have been a Symbol of Paralysis. An alarm rune. Aven - as ignorant as he was with magic - simply passed through. 

He’d entered into a massive room. Like an arena - but there were no spectators, no stands. There were only two people in the room. Lucian - and a man. He wore a brown coat that went down to his knees, sandy blonde hair pushed back and groomed with a stubbled jaw. He must be the tutor - Caesar. 

Lucian had discarded his jacket in favor of a white tunic and trousers - allowing for mobility as he stared the man down. Neither of them moved. Yet their muscles were tense. Ready to spring. 

Lucian broke first. He threw out his hand, a spear of ice conjuring in his grip and hurled it towards Caesar. The man threw out his hand, a ward materializing and the ice spear shattered against the magical shield. “Branch out!” Caesar shouted. “You have more in your arsenal than ice. Step outside your boundary.” 

“What’s the point?” Lucian hissed, bending over to press his hands on his knees. Aven could see the sweat dripping from his brow. “You’ll just deflect it.”

“Try. Your life is on the line.”

Aven watched as Caesar threw out his hand. He could hear the crackle of electricity, the clap of thunder that splintered in his ears and a lightning bolt exploded from his palm towards Lucian. It hit him square in the chest, sending him off his feet and rolling onto the ground.

Instinct tore at Aven to propel himself forward. He had taken three steps towards Lucian when the Prince began to push himself up with a stagger, gritting his teeth and threw out his hand. A wad of slimy grease spat from his fingertips, spraying the ground at Caesar’s feet. The man slipped and slid, and before he could reclaim his balance, Lucian leveled both palms at his mentor. Brilliant ribbons of light were conjured from midair, entangling around Caesar’s wrists and pinning him down until he fell to his knees. 

Caesar nodded. “Very good,” he grunted, flexing his wrists. “But you forget - mages are not helpless, even when restrained.” His pupils glowed red hot. He opened his mouth and a ray of fire shot from between his teeth towards Lucian who dove to the side, his shirt catching.

A breath of icy mist expelled from between Lucian’s lips, putting the flames out and he ground his teeth, glowering at his mentor. “You’re going down, old man,” he hissed, pushing back up to his feet, throwing out his hand. 

Magic charged down his fingers. A spark of brilliant purple erupted - and there’s a symphony of clucks and coos as two dozen chickens materialized from thin air, raining down on the two spellcasters. 

Lucian cursed, ripping his fingers through his hair. “You’re shitting me, now?!” He snarled, nudging a chicken away from his boots as it tugged at his pant leg. “This keeps happening to me. Last time, I made the trees start singing. The time before that - I turned my arm invisible. It won’t simply do as I bid.” 

“You’re still trying too hard,” he eased. “Magic requires utter concentration and peace of mind. If you doubt yourself, it’s more likely to go wild.”

“I don’t doubt myself.”

“I think perhaps you should take a-” Caesar trailed off as Aven entered into the room - holding one of the chickens in his arms. 

“Caught one.”

“Slave,” the Prince said, stepping forward. “Caesar, this is-”

“I know who this is.” Caesar swept forward, putting out his hand. “Aven Kheistan. It’s good to meet you. Lucian told me about you.”

Lucian. It seems these two were on a first name basis. Aven took the hand. “Nothing too terrible, I hope.”

“Only that you’re an intolerable brute. But don’t worry.” Caesar winked. “He finds everyone other than himself intolerable brutes. Lucian.” He turned to the boy, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll leave you with him. We’re done for today.”

“But we-”

“We will not stretch you beyond your limits. The harder you push yourself, the more the chance of you losing control. And that can prove deadly.”

Lucian grit his teeth and tore his gaze away. “…fine.”

Caesar’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before pulling his hand away. He nodded to Aven and departed through the doors. 

Lucian watched where he vanished for a second too long. He caught Aven staring and he scowled, folding his arms. “What.”

“I suppose you didn’t _mean_ to summon chickens.”

“Your skills of deduction are ever astounding. Of course I didn’t.”

“So why did you-”

Lucian waved his hand impatiently. “Magic is difficult. Far more difficult than you could possibly understand. And sometimes, it simply goes wrong.”

“It seems as though it goes wrong for you _often_ , though.”

Lucian’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Careful,” he warned. “Give me the chicken. I’ll dispel along with the others, and we will leave to eat dinner.”

Aven, who had been stroking the chicken’s feathers, settling it in his arms, glanced up. “I think I’ll be skipping dinner. And as for the chicken - I’m keeping it.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I want it.”

Lucian arched a brow. “…very well. So long as its new home isn’t our room.” He brushed past Aven, fastening his jacket back onto his figure. “I heard what happened in the training arena.”

Aven’s blood went cold. Still clutching onto the chicken, he spun to face him. “I didn’t attack first,” he said. “I thought it would be a spar, and he-”

“I know what that man is like. You did this castle a favor. I’ll see you in our room.” 

Lucian made for the door. Aven paused for only a moment before turning to face him, chicken still in his arms. 

“Tonight… will you want me to..?”

Lucian paused, fingers on the handle. “…no. You’re relieved of your duties for tonight.” He passed through the door and slammed it behind him.


	5. The Little Merman

It was to be a month before the Prince and his party departed for Amn. In that time, Aven became familiar with his new surroundings and his routine. The Prince it seemed, followed a very strict schedule. He woke in the morning before dawn and bathed. He was typically gone by the time Aven was awake. 

While Aven had free reign of the castle, Lucian would attend his lessons and prepare for the voyage. Horseback riding, swordsmanship, his arcane tutelage under Caesar. Sometimes he would even ask Aven to join him, in which case he simply became a glorified servant.

_Slave, bring me that pitcher._

_Slave, stand to the side._

_Slave, another grape._

At the end of the day, he and Aven had dinner together in their private dining hall - an affair that was typically dead silent. Aven learned early on that opening his mouth to engage in conversation typically elicited annoyed glares from the Prince and stayed quiet. 

That was all right with Aven. The less time he had with His Royal Haughtiness, the better. He kept himself busy, be it spending time with Icarus or Kion, or roaming the halls and exploring how far his freedom within the castle was tested. He quickly came to know the staff. Evette, the Mistress of the Wardrobe who loved to use Aven’s figure to test a number of apparel. Carth, the young stablehand who taught Aven how to settle a wild horse. He even traded brief conversation with Nikodemus, the castle Seneschal. 

But there was one man who Aven hadn’t seen yet. 

In the twilight of the second week, Aven laid out on the bed as he watched Lucian work. He was pouring over textbooks, perhaps the same ones from yesterday. Aven couldn’t tell the difference. They all looked the same to him. 

“Why haven’t we seen your uncle?” Aven dared to ask. “Does he keep himself holed up in his room all day?”

He could see the twitch of annoyance in Lucian’s jaw as the Prince dipped his quill into the inkwell. “No,” he said. “My uncle typically oversees matters of the kingdom. It’s his job, as he was appointed Regency until I have come of age to take the crown.”

The Regent. Darrien Arceneaux. Aven had heard rumors of him, from passing servants in the hall. Rumors that he was a mage of unrivaled power. “Is that not something you should be involved in?” Aven asked. 

“I learn all that I must in my studies.” Lucian flipped the page. “House banners. Politics. Economy. Trades and foreign policies and-”

“That doesn’t sound like learning how to rule.” Aven swung his legs over the side of the bed. “That sounds like a load of horse shit.”

Lucian’s head snapped over furiously. “What would you know?” He hissed. “I doubt you’ve ever received a single day of education in your life.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Aven was standing now, hands shoved in his pockets as he meandered over. “I’ve had lots of lessons.”

Lucian’s features broke in surprise. “Oh?”

“Sure. I got a lesson here,” he pulled his shirt up to reveal a scar on his stomach. “And I got a lesson here,” he drew aside his shoulder to reveal a burn mark. “And a lesson down-” he moved aside the hem of his pants and Lucian twisted away swiftly, his features red.

“Those aren’t lessons,” he uttered. “Those are scars.”

“Aye. Scars from poor decisions on my part. You won’t learn a damn thing if you’re not out there making mistakes.”

“But they’re nothing alike.” Lucian folds his arms. “A political battlefield is miles different from some brawl in the gutters. It takes tactics. It takes strategy. It takes-”

“You really think I survived that long in the arena without tactics and strategy?” Aven shot back. “I learned how to survive from experience. From learning what worked and what was going to get me killed. Your Highness. If you want to be a good ruler, you need to be hands on. You can’t learn everything from scrib- words on a piece of paper.”

“I didn’t buy you for you to educate me.”

“No. You bought me to fuck me.” Aven leaned back on the Prince’s desk. “And yet, I’ve yet to be fucked. In fact, all that it seems I’ve done is wander about, follow you a pup and keep you warm at night.”

“Maybe it just occurred to me how appalling it would be to sleep with slave scum.”

“Or maybe you’re simply lonely at night.”

He went too far. Lucian slammed his hand down on the table, face now inches from Aven. “You have your freedoms,” he said, voice low. “You have your fancy new clothes, your fine dining. But do not forget your place. You are nothing.”

Something caught his eye. 

A flash of light in Lucian’s clenched palm. Ice dripping down his fingers.

_Ah. So the Prince throws tantrums, as well._

“What are you going to do?” Aven said, the edge of his lip pulling upwards. “Are you going to challenge me to a wizard’s duel?”

“I wouldn’t dare waste my time.”

“So will we continue to battle with blades of wit instead?”

“I wouldn’t consider this a battle.”

“You’re right.” Aven grinned. “It’s a slaughter.”

Lucian scoffed and pushed past Aven. “I wasn’t aware that I’d be purchasing the most annoying slave the arena had to offer.”

“No,” Aven agreed. He watched the back of Lucian’s head. “You wanted the one that would challenge you.” He decided to stop pressing his luck as he moved forward swiftly. He grabbed a pitcher of wine, the only sound being the slow pour and voices echoing through the castle. He then began to light the candles, one by one when a voice echoed from behind him.

“Attend me.”

His fingers that held the match stilled, glancing over his shoulder. Lucian stood before the balcony looking out over the still waters of the sea, his back a line of tension. 

“…yes, your highness.”

Aven made his way over. He looked down the line of Aeolian knots running down the length of Lucian’s spine and clumsily, Aven began to unravel them one by one. Slow. Careful. He was unsure why nobility always insisted on tying themselves up in a hundred different knots. 

“Do you want me to fuck you.”

Aven’s fingers stilled halfway down Lucian’s spine. He looked up in shock. “…you want my opinion?”

“Yes.”

Aven didn’t answer. Not until he unfastened the last knot, and drew Lucian’s jacket off his slim shoulders, leaving him in nothing but a white tunic.

“No.”

“Some might find that insulting.” Lucian glanced over his shoulder. “Nobles. Servants. Slaves. I’ve had foreign kings trying to get into my bed. And yet, the one person who is supposed to has yet to even attempt.”

“No offense, your highness,” Aven said. “But I’ve fucked enough nobles to last me a life time.”

“…that’s right. Your master sold you out at nights.” He hesitated a moment, then drew away from Aven. He pulled on the twine of his braid, hair free falling around his shoulders and changed into his pajamas. “Get into bed. I’ll put out the lights.”

He waved his hand. Aven had seen the spell many times before. Unseen servants would be summoned at a snap of Lucian’s fingers, putting out the flames. 

But this time - there was no such effect. This time - there was a spark of magic that had Lucian reeling back in shock. Aven shot up. “Your Highness?”

“Damned- I have it,” he hisses out, throwing out his hand again, eyes narrowed in focus. Another spark. 

Aven grimaced. “Is something wrong? Is it like before in the training room?”

“No. I mean… yes. It simply… it simply goes wrong, sometimes.”

 _Goes wrong_. That doesn’t sound good. Aven frowned and moved forward. “Maybe you should give it a rest,” he eased, a hand lowering down on Lucian’s shoulder and the Prince spun about with a snarl. 

“Don’t _touch_ me,” he shouted, casting a spell. 

Aven felt it. The burst of wild magic that rushed through him, like a wave of fire through his blood. Suddenly, his face was being blasted by cold winds. He hung in midair - a hundred feet above the sea, half a mile outside the castle with Lucian free falling beside him. 

Panic surge. “ _LUCIAN_!” he shouted. His fingers twisted into Lucian’s robes as they fell. “What did _you do?_! Make it stop!”

“I _can’t_!” Lucian cried back, eyes wide as the sea rapidly approached. Falling. They’d be hitting the ground in seconds. Lucian threw out his hand, light gathering at his fingertips and Aven felt a surge of relief. _Good. He’s casting a spell to save us both._

The spell went off. Lucian’s descent slowed to that of a fluttering feather.

Aven simply kept falling.

_That asshole._

Aven twisted his body around, rapidly approaching the water and with his body straight as a sword, dove. He cut through the water like an arrow, a school of fish bolting as he slowly kicked his legs. Fortunately, the sea was calm. It didn’t take long for him to find the surface, even in the dull starlight and with a kick of his legs, broke through and dragged in a breath of air. 

Lucian floated down beside him. “I’d give that a ten,” he purred.

Aven shot him a look and groaned, flopping onto his back in the water. He floated, staring up into the night sky. “Thank you, your highness. But we now face another matter. You’re half naked outside in the sea.” 

“So I am. A moment while I summon a boat.”

 _Summon a boat._ Aven’s arms flailed in the water as he kicked himself rightside up. “Ah, your highness?” He protests as Lucian lifts his fingers. “Perhaps you should… conserve your energy. We can simply swim to shore, it’s not far.”

Lucian hesitated. Then gave a slow nod. “Yes. All right. Keep up.” His legs kicked, arms cutting through the water as he began to make for shore, Aven close behind.

They emerged from the sea like drenched rats. The beaches on the shore of Exthellion were stark white, running along the side of the castle that was perched by the shore. The castle walls towered above, protecting the palace from seabound assaults. Aven shook the water from his hair and glanced over as Lucian wrung it from his golden locks.

He had the decency to look embarrassed. 

An embarrassed Lucian was an intolerable Lucian.

“You’re a good swimmer,” Aven said, hands on his knees as he recovered his breath. 

“As are you,” Lucian said. “I didn’t think you’d have many opportunities to swim in an arena.”

“They flooded the colosseum more than once. Eventually, you end up in the water. You either learn fast or you drown.”

“I suppose one must learn one way or another.” He regarded the castle walls with a frown. “…we need to get up over the wall,“ he said, tapping his jaw. "Sneaking in through the servant’s quarters is much too far…. and every entrance through the gates will be guarded. I will not be seen drenched and half naked.”

“How high are the walls..?” Aven asked. 

“Thirty feet.”

Thirty feet. Aven frowned, eyeing the wall. He approached and ran his calloused hand along its surface. The edges didn’t have many foot holds. “It’ll be a difficult climb,” he murmured. “Doable, but not impossible.”

“Climb?” Lucian scoffed. “Who said anything about climbing. _You_ climb. I’m getting up my own way.”

He threw out his hand before Aven could stop him.

“Your highness, _wait_!”

A flash of light. Aven threw out his hand, stumbling backwards. He blinked away the stars in his vision. “Your highness..?” He hissed out, squinting. 

He could see Lucian’s back. He was sitting on the ground, shoulders sagging and the Prince heaved a slow breath. “….it was supposed to be a floating disk,” he murmured, voice harsh. “I was simply going to ride it to the top.”

There was no floating disk.

His legs had fused into a mermaid tail. 

Silvery blue scales glittered in the starlight. Lucian’s face was hidden in his hand, and through his slim fingers, Aven could see his cheeks burned bright red. 

“…my lord,” Aven said. “Just a suggestion, but….perhaps magic is not going to be of any help to us right now.”

“Apparently not.”

Aven edged forward. He knelt down beside the Prince, eyes running over him and a smirk drew over his features. “…well. At least no one can tell you’re half naked, now.”

“What does it matter?!” Lucian hissed. “My spell has gone awry _again_. I’m stuck outside my castle, my legs are gone and who _knows_ how long they’ll stay like this.”

“How long does this normally last?”

Lucian heaved an irritated breath, folding his arms. “It depends,” he muttered. “Sometimes it only lasts for perhaps an hour. But I do believe Mrs. Brailey still has a sixth toe from a stray spell when I was a child.”

“Surely someone at the castle will be able to help. But first…” Aven drew his eyes upwards. “We need to get you up over that wall.”

“How.”

“How high did you say it was, again?”

Lucian stared. “….you’re going to climb it?”

Aven’s shoulders rolled. “Sure. It can’t be too bad. Unless you’d like to wait about for some noble to find us-”

“Absolutely not. Get me onto your back.”

The edge of Aven’s lip curved. He heaved Lucian up and the Prince squirmed up onto his back, arms hooking around his neck and hands gripping his golden collar as though they were his reins. 

“Comfortable?” Aven grunted.

“No. Don’t fall.”

Easier said than done. Aven exhaled, glancing up at the wall - and began to climb. It was slow going. Especially with a brat squirming on his back. As he misplaced his foot about fifteen feet up, Lucian jumped, smacking him in the face and Aven gasped, scowling backwards. 

“Settle down. You’re going to make us fall,” he hissed. Sweat dripped down his brow. He glanced downwards towards the ground below. Well… if they fell, at least the sand would cushion their fall. 

Finally, with a pant, Aven heaved himself up onto the edge of the wall. A cold breeze blew across his face and he shivered, lowering so that Lucian could flop off of his back. “Well done,” Lucian hummed, as though he’d just seen an entertaining show. He shimmied himself over towards the edge, scoping out any possible way down. 

Aven was slick with sweat now, kicking his feet over the edge. “Guess you got lucky, picking the big strong gladiator,” he muttered. “Should we just jump down?”

“Thirty feet?” Lucian snorted. “Sure. Go for it. Tell me how a pair of broken legs feel.” He threw out a hand… perhaps to cast a spell. Then his fair cheeks flushed with red, and he pulled his hand back. “…perhaps not spells…” he murmured.

“I would advise you wait on the spellcasting when we’re back in your room,” Aven agreed, looking about.

Then, his eyes locked on the nearest tower balcony. 

“Your Highness. Have you ever gone fly fishing?”

“No.” Lucian turned, spot the balcony, and immediately scowled at him. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m afraid it’s that or jumping down. Now come here.” Aven didn’t wait for Lucian to argue with him. They’d have been sitting up on that wall all day. He swung Lucian up and the Prince clung to him like a koala, tail wrapping around his hip and face buried into his chest.

“If you fall,” Lucian hissed, letting the threat hang. 

Aven was somewhat grateful. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know how the Prince intended to finish that sentence. He took a breath, gritting his teeth and surged towards the edge. Powerful legs leapt - and he was in the air, sailing over the ten foot gap separating the tower from the wall. 

He missed.

Aven felt the panic shooting through his veins like fire as his hand reached for the balcony edge, missing by an inch. _That’s it. My life is over. This boy is going to kill me._

He squeezed his eyes shut, ready to twist around to at least soften the blow when he heard Lucian crying out. Their fall jolted to a stop. He opened his eyes - to spot Lucian clutching desperately at the balcony, tail coiling around his waist and holding on tight. “God, you’re fucking heavy!” Lucian shouted out, knuckles white and teeth bared. 

“What did you expect?!” Aven hissed out. “I strangled monsters in an arena with my bare hands.”

_“JUST CLIMB ALREADY.”_

Aven ground his jaws together. His muscles screamed as he heaved himself up and as soon as he was up on the balcony, his hand snatched out, grabbing Lucian’s wrist. He hauled him up onto the balcony and practically collapsed against the railing. 

They recovered their breaths. Felt the cold wind brush by and Lucian shivered in his arms, face burning red. 

“….I swear that normally doesn’t happen.”

He had half a mind to remind Lucian that this was in fact the third time it had happened that day. But… his eyes roamed over Lucian’s features. Embarrassed. Vulnerable. Softness crossed over Aven’s gaze as he pulled the Prince close and edged open the balcony door leading into the hall. “As far as I’m concerned,” he murmured. “You lasted long enough holding me, Your Highness. Most men would have fallen instantly. Or dropped me." 

"It takes a shocking amount of strength to constantly be pointing at people all day and telling them what to do." 

"I can imagine. Now… your uh… tail looks like it’s drying out. We should probably get you into a bath until this clears up.”

———————————-

Aven edged his way quietly through the castle. Guided by Lucian, they dodged and wove around guards before they could be seen, keeping quiet and still around a corner until a pair of servants passed. Finally, they reached Lucian’s room - with a single guard at attention at the door. Icarus. 

Icarus stirred to attention when he spot Lucian and Aven, eyes going wide as he quickly assessed the situation. The Prince with a mermaid tail and half naked. Both of them dripping wet. He opened his mouth to ask - when Lucian waved his hand.

“No. Just let us in.”

Icarus’ jaw snapped shut. Right Better to not ask questions. He stepped aside, opening the door and Aven gave him a nod as the swept through, kicking the door closed behind them. Lucian gave a groan as Aven placed him down on his bed, falling backwards to stretch out across the blankets. “Finally,” he muttered. “Go and draw me a bath. Be sure the appropriate amount of bubbles fill the tub before you retrieve me.”

Seems they were back to the usual routine. Aven snorted. “Yes, your majesty,” he murmured, moving off towards the room attached to the bed chambers. 

Lucian’s bath was made of white marble flooring. A circular pool rested in the corner, a constant song being played - the plucking of lyres and the soft singing of a woman singing in a tongue Aven didn’t recognize. The sounds reverberated calmingly off of the walls, and as Aven turned the knob, hot water poured from the vase of a stone woman standing over the edge. Outside, a window gave a perfect view to the expanse of sea and starlight.

He’s drawn Lucian’s bath enough times now to know the very particular process. The water warm. A quart of bath salts and a quarter liter of soap. By the time he left, bubbles were nearly spilling over the edge. “It’s ready for you.”

“Good. You’re going to join me.” He glanced over and noted the wrinkle of Aven’s nose. “I know you’re like a big, messy mutt that doesn’t like to be bathed, but you will not be allowed in my bed if you don’t wash yourself. So you will either join me, or sleep on the floor like the dog you are.”

Aven grimaced and rubbed his head. “All right, all right,” he murmured, sweeping his arms underneath Lucian to lift him up. He swept into the baths, lowering Lucian down. The Prince’s tail hung half out of the water, relaxing against the edge and his blue eyes followed Aven as he began to move to the candles, lighting them with a match until a warm light filled the baths. 

Neither of them said a word as Aven began to undress, peeling off his silky clothes and lowered himself into the water with a slow breath. He still wasn’t used to this. He was used to cold water being dumped across his shoulders, and a rough sponge being scrubbed across his body until he was clean enough to be sold out during the nights. This… it seemed deceptively calm and pleasurable. 

He glanced over. Lucian’s tail was lazily flicking about in the air, head resting back against the white marble tiles. 

“…why does that happen?” Aven dared to ask.

“Why does what happen.”

“The….spell failures. Why doesn’t it work?”

Lucian sighed. He drew his head up to look at Aven. “…how much do you know about magic, Aven.”

“Next to nothing.”

“I suppose that’s to be expected. Icarus told me about your… condition.” Lucian hesitated. “…magic is drawn from different sources. Servitors and paladins draw their powers from deities. Druids draw their abilities from nature. Most of those who wield magic in Aeliorn however are mages. And they draw their power from the Weave.”

“The….Weave?”

“The Weave is…the source of all magic. It’s the very fabric of the world, and it is controlled by the goddess, Mystra. The Weave is made up of something called Mana.”

“I’ve heard that term mentioned a couple times,” Aven said. He scooted a bit closer. 

“That’s because there is Mana in all living things. It is essentially life itself. It’s in all of us. Mana is our connection to the Weave. Mages can cast spells by reaching inside themselves and tap into the Weave through their mana. But sometimes…. It goes wrong.” He tapped his finger on the edge of the bath. “To manipulate your own mana, you must have focus. Concentration. Discipline. You must be decisive in what you’re using it for, and be able to harness it with confidence. If you waver once, your mana can go astray, and go - as mages like to call it - wild.”

“And… what happens if it goes wild?”

“Anything. As I said before, the Weave and Mana is the fabric of the very universe. You could change the bodies of the people around you.” He nods to his tail. “Summon things from midair. Destroy the landscape around you.”

“So why is it so bad for you?” Aven asked. 

Lucian shot him a look. “It’s not.”

Aven arched a brow. Brown eyes flicked down towards his tail and Lucian’s cheek flushed. He drew his gaze away.

“I just…” He drew it up into his chest, arms wrapping around. “..I don’t know. It’s been like that for a long while. It’s difficult for me to focus at times. I think I…. try too hard.”

Aven didn’t answer for a long moment. His eyes searched Lucian’s face in the dull light of flickering candles. He held an expression that was so often rare on his usually stone solid features. Vulnerability. 

Aven edged forward and drew up the softest sponge within reach. “Why don’t I wash you, your highness. Then we can get you to bed.”

“….all right.” 

Lucian shifted so that his back was to Aven. The barbarian dipped the sponge into the water, drew it up to Lucian’s shoulders…. And froze. 

Once again…. His eyes were drawn to the scar on the Prince’s back. Dead in the center of his back, having missed his spine only by inches. He’d seen it the first night they’d slept in bed together. Again the next morning during Lucian’s bath. There was no mistaking it. It was a wound Aven had seen countless times before. 

A sword scar, stabbed through his back. Aven’s brows pushed together. He reached out, fingers delicate, careful to drag them across his scar… when he thought better of it. With a sigh, he drew the sponge down Lucian’s back. Squeezed the water to let it drip down his spine. Lucian’s shoulders were lined with tension. No words were said. There was no sound save for the stream of water flowing into the bath, and the sponge scrubbing tently across the Prince’s back. 

Lucian’s leg suddenly kicked out from the bath, toes flexing. 

“It’s fixed. You’re excused.”

The vulnerability was gone. His expression had returned to steel. Aven’s eyes searched him for a moment longer, before he stood up from the bath, warm water dripping down his figure. 

“….yes, your highness.”


	6. The Regent (NSFW)

“We’re going to be leaving tomorrow. You need to learn this.” **  
**

“Why do _I_ have to know this. You’re the one who’s going to be talking to them.”

“Yes, but if they for some reason happen to address you, you need to know who the hell you’re talking about.”

“I call them ‘my lord’ or ‘my lady.’ What else is there to know?!”

Aven and Lucian were sitting shoulder to shoulder on the Prince’s expansive bed as they poured over scrolls. Morning light peered through the curtains and Lucian rubbed his face tiredly. So close to the day they were to leave, he had gotten hardly any sleep, preferring to study rather than rest. “Not all of them are referred to as Lord and Lady,” he said shortly. “There’s only five of them, surely that can’t be impossible for you to memorize.”

Aven scowled and leaned back. “I suppose not,” he grunted.

“Good. Now pay attention. There are five positions within the Council of Five. The Meisarch, the Tessarch, the Namarch, the Iltarch and the Pommarch. Each of them are among the Cowled Wizards and-“

“I thought magic was outlawed in Amn?” Aven asked.

“It is. Only members of the Cowled Wizards are licensed to practice magic.”

Aven wrinkled his nose with exasperation. “That’s rather hypocritical.”

“Agreed. Magic is a benefit that should be licensed to all, not just the wealthy. But not every nation is as advanced as Aeliorn. As I was saying. The Meisarch is the highest ranked member of the Council of Five and is the undisputed authority of all decision making. The former Meisarch used to be held by my uncle’s second hand man, Ceril Trevellion but it is now held by Thayze Selemchant. Thayze-“

Lucian was interrupted by a knock on the door. Relief washed through Aven. “I’ll get it,” he said, easing himself up off the bed and made his way to the door. 

“Send them away,” Lucian grunted. 

Aven pushed the door open. “The Prince asks for privacy-” Aven’s blood went cold. 

“I’m afraid the Prince doesn’t have a choice in the matter.” Pale skin was drawn tight over a handsome face, dark brown hair fastened behind his head. His King’s Guard crimson armor glittered opulently in the candlelight. But his eyes - grey and empty simply passed over the slave like he was nothing as he pushed into the room uninvited. His plated pauldron bumped against Aven’s shoulder. “Prince Lucian. Your uncle instructs for you to join him for supper tonight to discuss your voyage.”

“Sir Jaheron. I don’t remember inviting you inside my room.” Jaheron didn’t answer. He simply locked Lucian with a cold look. The Prince scoffed. “My uncle has been absent for three weeks, and suddenly he expects for me to waste time that I could be spending on preparations to sit and dine with him?” Lucian sneered. “I don’t think so. Slave - a glass of wine.”

No answer. Lucian swiveled around to stare at Aven. “Did you hear me?”

He didn’t.

Aven didn’t hear him. He couldn’t hear anything but the blood pounding in his head, and his heart slamming against his chest as he stared at the back of Sir Jaheron’s head. 

_It was him._

“Slave.” Lucian’s voice snapping through the room drew Aven’s attention. He dragged his gaze from Jaheron’s face. “Yes, your highness.”

“Wine.” Lucian eased himself down lazily onto his bed, without offering Sir Jaheron even a seat. “I’m aware my uncle must miss my company dearly, but I am following his advice and preparing myself. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“The Regent suspected you might refuse. And that I was to inform you that he-”

Lucian cut him off with a yawn. Aven could have sworn he saw the veins on his forehead bulge in irritation. “Inform me that he’s withholding information from me lest I visit him for dinner? How very like him. Very well. Please inform my uncle that my slave and I will greet him at dinner tonight.”

“You are to come alone.” 

“That’s not happening.”

Jaheron’s jaw ground together. He took a step forward. “The Regent says-”

The moment the knight took a step forward, Aven was moving. He got not even an inch closer to Lucian before the gladiator was between them, eyes narrowed to slits. Heat lifted off of his skin and coiled in his stomach. 

“The Prince gave you his answer.” His voice was low and rumbling. “Step outside.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Jaheron snarled. Aven’s body tensed as his hand rested on the hilt of his blade. “I’ll cut you in half if you command me again.”

“Sir Jaheron,” Lucian purred. He seemed amused by the encounter. “I’d like to introduce my new slave and guard. I assume you’ve heard of the Beast Tamer.”

He had. Aven could immediately see it in his eyes, in the way Jaheron paled. Jaheron ground his teeth. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. 

_Yes. Do it. Give me any reason._

Jaheron’s sword never left its sheath. The man’s fingers uncurled from the hilt. “You will meet your uncle tonight,” he hissed out. “Make sure your slave is at least appropriately dressed.” He said not another word before he swept out of the room, closing the door behind him so hard a frame fell from the wall, caught by Lucian’s magic seconds before it shattered. 

“That man really is appalling,” Lucian muttered, waving his hand to ease the picture up onto the wall.

“Who was that.” Aven’s voice shook. He hadn’t moved, eyes staring at the closed door.

“That was Sir Jaheron. First Knight of my uncle.”

“First Knight?” Aven turned. “First Knight is the captain of the King’s Guard, and the sole protector of the ruling monarch. And only the King can obtain a King’s Guard.”

Lucian shrugged his slim shoulders. “The Council found my uncle prestigious enough to be appointed one. You know quite a bit about our King’s Guard.”

Aven ignored the statement. “You called me your guard.”

“Half of the reason I bought you was because you’re pretty. The other half was because you’re quite strong.” Lucian frowned. Blue eyes searched Aven’s face. “What’s wrong. You’re trembling. If you’re going to be sick, do it over the balcony.”

“No, your highness. It’s nearly noon. You need to meet with Caesar.”

Lucian jolted. The Prince swiveled about to look outside and cursed, pushing to his feet. “You’re right. We’ll continue our lesson once we’re finished with this dinner.” He grunted and rolled his eyes. “Should be absolutely delightful. I’ll have the servants lay an outfit out for you to wear tonight. I’ll see you tonight.”

Lucian said not another word, shrugging into a white coat with gold trimming before disappearing through the door.

Aven stared at the door. His fists were clenched tight at his sides, nails cutting into his palms. Blood slipped between his fingers. With every muscle screaming with tension, he tore forwards and made his way down towards the training arena. 

—————————————-

One savage strike was all it took for the longsword to cleave the dummy in half. Straw exploded at Aven’s feet, fingers trembling violently around the hilt. Sweat dripped down his face. His legs shook. With a vicious snarl, Aven spun, his sword masterfully cutting through the air and decapitating the dummy.

Hours. He’d been down in the training room for hours, his body a machine as it worked non stop. Every time a dummy was destroyed, it fixed itself in seconds, granting an endless amount. That was fine with Aven. It gave him something to do. 

One of the dummies behind him rearranged. Its head hadn’t even finished sewing itself together before his sword swiped down diagonally, the top half of its straw skull crumbling to the ground. 

Anger. It surged through him. He practically choked on it. Every breath was labored and heavy as he twirled around, stabbing his sword into the gut of a dummy and wrenched it upwards, tearing it in half. 

That man. 

_Sir Jaheron._

The first and last he’d seen him was so long ago. He’d been just a boy. A boy on his birthday, waiting for his father to come home. He’d waited, waited at his door until a group of knights arrived, to tell him his father had been-

The splintering of his thoughts came to a crashing halt as something wet dripped down his cheeks and onto his palm. His heart slammed against the cage of his ribs. A calloused hand reached up, pushing the tear back away from his face, teeth grinding until they ached. 

He promised himself even then that one day, he would push a sword through Jaheron’s heart. And yet, he couldn’t do a damn thing. He just stood there and watched as he left, just like when he was a boy. 

It seemed nothing had changed. 

With a roar, Aven spun, every ounce of strength funneling into the single strike that carved a dummy in half, straw exploding over Aven’s clothes, his hair. His muscles screamed. Fight. Fight. _Fight_ -

“E-excuse me?”

Aven turned. Tears ripped down his cheeks. His features were contorted in fury. THe poor young servant was frozen like a startled rabbit in the door, cheeks flushed and she took a wary step back. “His… his highness instructed me to find you… you have clothes laid out on the bed and you’re to meet him in the dining hall.”

“What?” Aven turned. He’d lost track of time. He was sure he’d only been training for a couple hours, but when he looked out the window, there was a red glow as the sun began to dip over the horizon. Aven grimaced. “Then I’d better get going,” he murmured. “Thank you for telling-”

There was no one to thank. She was gone. Aven pushed a tired breath out from between his lips and hung his sword up on the rack. 

Surely dinner couldn’t be any worse than this morning. 

———————————————

The Regent dined separately from his nephew and the rest of the palace. Within his palace suite, the dining hall was lavish and luxuriant. The zalantar table was filled to the brim with pike and mouth watering venison, plates of bountiful fruits that were bursting with colour. A pitcher of delicious Calishite wine was poured into their crystal glasses. 

Across from them sat Ceril Trevellion and his son, Icarus. Icarus played the perfect son, back straight and picking at his food delicately. Unlike the Prince. The Prince was sprawled out lazily, a boot kicked up on the table as he reclined back in his seat, helping himself to his third glass of wine, cheeks flushed.

Darrien and Sir Jaheron had yet to arrive.

“I thought,” Lucian sighed. “That we were to be attending to dine with my uncle.”

“The Regent is dealing with matters regarding the diplomatic voyage,” Lord Ceril hummed. “He will deal with you presently.”

 _Deal with you._ Lucian’s glare sent Ceril’s eyes timidly back to his wine, sinking back into his seat. Lord Ceril was a man that Aven decided upon first meeting that he didn’t like. Tall and lanky, rather than a fair tone like his son, Ceril’s skin was touched with a deep gold, a black moustache twirled exquisite above a pair of thin lips, long and greasy black hair straight and cascading down his robes. Lucian had described him earlier as an ‘opulent pet weasel.’ The descriptor wasn’t as exaggerated as one might think.

Aven stood behind Lucian, dressed in a lavish outfit of golds and crimson, hands clasped behind his back as he observed the nobles. At times, it was hard to keep up with them. So many conversations and idle chatter that was masked with insults and subtle affronts. He was almost glad to be standing, separated from the pit of vipers.

Until Lucian turned. His cheeks were tinted red and he stared at Aven until he shifted with discomfort. “…yes, your highness?”

“Come here.”

He obeyed. Aven swept forward and Lucian waved a hand. “You,” he called to a passing elf. “Pull up a chair. My slave will be dining with us tonight.”

Ceril choked on his food to glower at Lucian furiously. “You can’t be serious,” he hissed. “Get it off the table.” 

“ _He_ is my personal property. And I will have him wherever I like him. Even if it means at my uncle’s fine table. Sit.” 

Aven almost didn’t want to. He had a sinking suspicion this was about more than a slave being permitted at the table and he pushed out a breath. “Yes, your highness,” he murmured. 

The elven servant pulled up a chair for him, and he eased down next to Lucian. 

An assortment of silverware lain out in front of Aven. Small spoons, big spoons, forks that looked as though they’d been crafted for pixies. 

Aven leaned over towards Lucian. “I don’t know which ones to use,” he whispered.

“Use your fists for all I care,” Lucian snorted, another sip of wine disappearing down his throat.

The doors opened. Aven saw it in an instant. The tension of Lucian’s shoulders. The alertness in his eyes as they shot towards the end of the room.

Two figures swept into the dining hall. The first, being Sir Jaheron. Aven tempered the quickening of his blood. And behind him - was who could Aven only guess was the Regent. The man he’d heard so much about. Lucian’s last living family. 

They looked alike.

Both with stark blonde hair and fair skin, they said you could pick out an Arceneaux in a crowd within seconds. Their features were sharp and poised, gaze intelligent. And yet…as Aven watched the Regent make his way wordlessly to his seat, without a single apology for his tardiness - he could see the differences between Darrien and his nephew. His skin held a sickly shade and his thin lips were pale white. His coarse blonde hair fell down to the small of his back. But it was his eyes that set him apart from his nephew. Lucian’s eyes were blue. Blue like the sea on a starlit night. Alert, attentive.

Even beautiful.

Darrien’s eyes were cold. Vacant. Like slates of lifeless ice. 

It set Aven into an unease he’d never felt. He watched carefully as the Regent lowered himself into his seat at the head of the table. Lucian sat at the other end, the short distance between them seeming even longer as the silence stretched on for another painfully prolonged minute.

Lucian leaned forward. “Uncle,” he said. “So nice of you to join us. I was almost afraid our only entertainment for tonight would be your manservant.”

Ceril’s lips twisted into a frown. Darrien didn’t answer. He calmly took a bite of steak and lowered his fork down delicately onto the plate.

“I was conducting business,” Darrien said. His voice was reminiscent of his eyes. “I spoke with the diplomat who will be accompanying you to Amn about the nation’s interests and what we hope to accomplish.” He took a sip of wine. Red stained his white lips and his gaze locked onto his nephew. “A task that was meant for _you_ to carry out.”

“I was busy,” Lucian purred. “A trip this extensive, it requires tedious care, uncle. Especially under such short notice.”

“And yet you have been neglecting your duties.”

“Not at all. I’ve simply left them to the man who is clearly more capable. Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Ceril?”

Lord Ceril paled. He looked back and forth between the Prince and the Regent and tugged on his collar. “I- the Regent is certainly efficient in-”

“Oh, shut up,” Lucian spat with a roll of his eyes. Ceril stiffened as though he’d been electrocuted. “You continue to be dreadfully dull, Lord Ceril. You might as well just start sucking my uncle’s cock and that will speak just as well for you.” He took a long sip of wine. 

Darrien’s jaw tightened. “ _Lucian_.”

“Forgive me, uncle. One mustn’t insult one’s pet. And speaking of pet. Uncle, may I introduce you to the Beast Tamer.”

It was the first time Darrien had ever regarded him. He turned and upon noticing Aven, his features withered. “Why is he at the table.”

“Because I asked him to be. I bought him as my pleasure slave. He keeps my bed warm at night, uncle.”

For a moment, Aven could have sworn he saw a flicker of fury in the Regent’s eyes. “Lucian, this is utterly inappropriate,” Darrien hissed. He leveled his gaze on Aven. “What is your name, boy.”

The Regent was speaking with him. Aven swallowed the lump in his throat. “…Aven, your highness.”

“Aven. And my nephew has purchased you as a pleasure slave, has he? How has he faired in bed.”

The entire table was dead silent. Lucian had gone white. He watched Aven closely, every eye locked on him. Confusion coiled in him. Guard. Slave. Whore. What the hell was he supposed to be. What did Lucian want him to say? He hesitated a moment. “…I’ve had many partners in my life,” Aven says slowly. “Most nobles who purchased me for a night. Some good. Some bad. The Prince….” he paused. The edge of his lip lifted as he brought his own glass of wine to his lips. “I don’t kiss and tell.” He wrinkled his nose at the disgustingly fruity flavor.

Wrong answer. Right answer. Aven couldn’t tell. Lucian’s face was slate blank and he turned to regard his uncle. “And there you have it. One’s sexual affairs are private, after all. Who knows what a man gets up to behind closed doors.”

Darrien’s eyes narrowed to slits. 

The tension in the room was suddenly stifling hot. No one dared to move, speak or even breathe as the uncle and nephew stared one another down. Until Icarus cleared his throat. “So, Lucian!” He said with a smile, leaning over the table. Aven had nearly forgotten he was there. In a room of such dominating figures, young Icarus was rather small. “Are you excited for your trip?”

Lucian frowned. As though he didn’t understand the question. “Am I excited?”

“Yeah, are you happy to be leaving? I remember when we were kids, we used to always talk about visiting Faerun. The Bay of Dancing Dolphins, the Spire of the World, Waterdeep-”

“This isn’t a vacation,” Lucian snapped. “It’s business. Of course I’m not excited.”

“But it’s an honor.” Icarus pushed his food around his plate. “I wish I could come. You’d think as your future First Knight, I’d be expected to, but…”

“But you have your studies,” Ceril said, voice low. “You will not be galavanting about in Faerun when you have to further your abilities. How else could you protect the Prince.”

“I know, I know,” Icarus said quickly. “I know, father, I just…I was hoping to go. I know Amn is rather brutish, but the country is still filled with so many beautiful things! Port Nyanzaru, Athkatla, the Snowflake Mountains, I’d love to see-”

 _“The Snowflake Mountains,”_ Lord Ceril mocked. Icarus’ features fell. “Do you know how childish you sound, boy. You have your duties here to tend to. _Focus_ on them.”

For a moment, Aven was sure he saw a flicker of sympathy in Lucian’s eyes. “Don’t worry, Icarus,” the Prince hummed. “It will be dreadfully dull. I’ll be alone save for a slave who doesn’t make for very good conversation and the snake lords of Amn.”

Darrien looked up. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, yes, Uncle. I decided to bring him with me. A voyage like that is quite long and I’d like to have my slave by my side to tend to me.”

Darrien lowered his glass of wine. “You are not bringing your whore with you on a diplomatic assignment.”

“As future king, I’d say I can do whatever I want.”

“Future King?” Darrien repeated slowly. His voice was lowered. “No. That’s not what you are.”

Silence followed. Aven’s eyes were locked on Lucian who simply ate another piece of his meal absently. “I question your logic, uncle. My father was the King, who, by the way, is no longer alive. Which means now-”

“Which means you’re a disgrace.”

It was the first time Aven had ever seen Lucian tongue tied. Before the boy could respond, Darrien was pushing up from his chair, hands locked behind his back as he made his way around the table towards Lucian. “Your father embarked on his first diplomatic journey alone when he was sixteen years old. He defended our allies from common enemies and fought in his first battle a year later. By the time he was your age, he was the unrivaled sovereign of Aeliorn. And look at you. His only son.” He stood behind Lucian now. Icy eyes cut into the back of Lucian’s head. “…you are nothing but a shadow of your father. Eighteen years old… and what have you done.”

Lucian didn’t answer. His jaw was tight, eyes drawn towards the corner. Darrien’s hand slammed down on the table and the Prince jolted, knee smacking against the bottom. “ _Answer me._ ”

“I’ve survived.”

“You’ve survived. How impressive. You’ve survived within your castle with your fine dining and servants and education from tutors of the highest quality.” Darrien clicked his tongue. “You are an embarrassment. An embarrassment which will no longer be tolerated in the Palace.” 

His hand lowered onto Lucian’s shoulder. Lips down to the boy’s ear. “You _will_ embark on this journey. You _will_ learn how to be a King. Or you will be nothing.”

Lucian’s face was white. He didn’t meet the Regent’s eyes, fists clenched so tight, Aven could see a drop of red slipping down his slim finger. 

“Yes, Uncle.”

“Good. Take your slave and leave the adults to their work.”

——————————————

Lucian didn’t say a single word that night. As they made their way into their room, he gave no orders. No, ‘attend me.’ No, ‘get the lights.’ He simply drew off his coat, threw it onto the floor and closed himself into the baths. 

Aven tried to swallow his pity. Prince Lucian was a prick, plain and simple. He didn’t deserve his sympathy. And yet…

Aven looked towards the door. Lucian had drawn himself a bath and had been in there for nearly an hour. Certainly longer than usual. Aven’s features softened. “Pompous brat,” he muttered under his breath, pushing up. He drew a glass of water for the Prince, setting it on the table beside his bed. Filled the ceramic bowl with sweets - it seemed he favored sugar tarts from Oremvrar - and made up his bed, fluffing pillows and drawing back the covers slightly. Once he was satisfied with his work and head ringing from the night’s alcohol, crawled under his own blankets and closed his eyes.

Aven was woken several hours later by flickering candlelight. 

He sat up, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes and glanced over. “…Lucian?” he murmured.

The Prince sat next to him… ass naked. His knees were drawn up into his chest as he leaned back against the bed stand, hair undone from its usual braid and flowing down one shoulder. His eyes were heavy and bags bloomed beneath his blue eyes as he dumped a glass of wine down his throat. The water was untouched.

“Aven.”

“You’re still drinking?”

“Yes.”

Aven grimaced. He pushed up and stretched until his bones cracked. “Come on. Why don’t we give you some water and-”

“Where have you met Jaheron?”

Aven’s voice died in his throat. “….what do you mean?”

“Please.” Lucian glanced over. “I’m not blind. Nor am I stupid. I saw the hatred in your eyes when you looked at him. I’m going to ask again. Where have you met Jaheron.”

Aven stared at him. He didn’t know Lucian watched him so closely. He sat back. “…he killed my father.”

“Explain.” Lucian reached over to pour himself another goblet. 

It felt like there were shards of glass in Aven’s chest. He watched Lucian for a long moment before he rubbed the back of his neck. “…you said before that I knew a lot about knights,” he said. “That’s because… my father was a knight.”

Lucian stilled. He stared into his cup for a long while. “…when was he killed?”

Aven watched the Prince, eyes searching his face. "When I was seven. It was my birthday. I was waiting for him to come home, like he did every night. But he never did. Jaheron came. Him and the other…” Aven wrinkled his nose. “…knights. They told me they killed my father.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Lucian fingered his glass thoughtfully. “Jaheron is a monster. But he’s not the kind of man to murder another knight for no reason.”

“He had a reason.”

“And what would that be?”

A fresh surge of anger swelled. Aven bit his rage down and exhaled. “Hatred.” He looked to Lucian. “My father was different. _I’m_ different. We have no magic. And because of it… the rest of the knights hated him. Disrespected him.” He paused. “…when I was young..he always told me the bruises he came home with were from protecting people. From protecting his King. I’m sure some were. But most were made by his brothers in arms.”

Lucian said nothing for a long while. They were both sitting up, and his head was tilted against the headrest, looking out across the length of the room to the starry sky glittering beyond the window. “That does sound like him,” he murmured. “Hateful and spiteful. I’m sure your father was twice the man Jaheros was. Perhaps when I’m King I’ll find some reason to see him hanged.”

“Why do you hate him?”

Lucian scoffed and down another sip. “That’s a bold question.”

“I answered yours. Now you answer mine.”

“I don’t think it works like that. But..” he paused. “…he’s hurt me, too.” It was the only answer he gave. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Aven had half a mind not to trust the order. But he did as was commanded, easing his eyes shut. He felt a weight as Lucian climbed on top of him. Felt arms wrap around his neck. And then felt his lips pressed to his. Instinct would have reared his head back. Demanded to know, _why_. 

He didn’t. He never had the pleasure of asking questions and wondering why. So as always - he went with the motions. He could taste wine on Lucian’s lips. Could feel the bite of teeth on his lips as Lucian’s fingers curled into his hair, tilting his head. The kiss was slow, deep, purposeful. With an edge. An edge of wanting more.

A shift of weight and Aven was guided on top of him, Lucian’s back on the bed. Below him, he looked disheveled and vulnerable. Nothing like as he did during the day, poised and proper and guarded. Blonde hair was fanned out. His heartbeat was rampant in his chest. 

Certainly prettier than most of Aven’s clients in the past.

Aven knew what he had to do. His mind went blank as his lips traveled downwards. They sucked on fair skin, beginning to leave a bruise before Lucian pinched him, hard. “No,” he hissed out. “Nowhere visible.”

He lowered his lips to his stomach. Teeth dragged over delicate skin. His hands drew rough up Lucian’s sides and the Prince shuddered beneath him. 

_Why. Why now._

Attentive. He made sure no inch of Lucian’s body was untended, be it from his gentle, stroking hands to his mouth, sucking, biting and kissing. 

He felt Lucian’s creamy thighs hook around him. Impatient. Dominating. He dragged Aven up from his foreplay, arms curving around his neck. “Don’t screw around,” Lucian whispered. “Just fuck me.”

_I thought you didn’t want this._

Aven did as he was told. A tender lover, even when paid for, he was gentle. He kissed the Prince. Lucian was unpracticed. Like he didn’t know what to do with his mouth. He was even clumsy, as their teeth knocked together. And yet, desperate. 

Aven was taking too long. As he drew down his silken linens, Lucian thrust his hips forward, grunting under his breath. “Hurry,” he whispered. “Get it over with.”

_Get it over with._

Aven could relate with that sentiment. Every time he slept with a noble, all he could do was simply get it over with. And it was no different here. Aven lowered down, teeth nipping at Lucian’s ear. Slow. Careful. “Yes, your highness,” he whispered, his hand dragging down between Lucian’s thighs to grasp…

And paused.

No. This was different.

Aven had fucked enough people to know when a lover was enjoying themselves. The gasps of pleasure. Bodies soaked with sweat. And of course - rock hard cocks. 

Lucian bore none of it. In fact - he looked almost pained. His head was turned to the side, eyes squeezed shut. The flush of alcohol in his cheeks was gone, now a pale and sickly white. Tense. 

“No.”

Eyes snapped open. Lucian glowered at him, still pinned underneath him, hips rutted up together and nearly joining their bodies. “The fuck do you mean no?” he hissed out. “I told you-”

“And I’m telling you no.” Aven eased off of the Prince. “You don’t want it.”

“How dare you presume what I want.”

“I’m not an idiot!” Aven snapped out before he could stop himself. “I’ve been fucked against my will my entire life. I know what it’s like when someone doesn’t want it. So why bother?! What the hell do you want from me?!”

Lucian stared. The brief shock was swiftly overtaken by usual coldness as the Prince grit his teeth, reaching for another glass. He missed. Clumsy, drunken fingers knocked it off the table and the cup shattered to the ground and Lucian merely stared at it, silent for a long while.

“I don’t know.”

Aven squeezed his eyes shut. Confusion coiled in his stomach. “….I think,” he dared to say, his voice low and careful. “You’re drunk and it’s late. And something tells me you’re going to be regretting this tomorrow.” He pushed himself up. He stepped around the shards of broken glass to hand the Prince his water. “Please drink this.”

“Why.”

“Because you’re drunk and-”

“No. Why are you like this.” Lucian flicked his gaze up. “Why are you taking care of me.”

“I’m the one that has to shadow you. Don’t you think if you’re miserable I will be too?” Aven hesitated. “Besides, I don’t agree with attacking someone unable to fairly fight back.”

Lucian said nothing for a long while. His knees were drawn up into his chest. When he spoke, his voice was shallow. “I know what I want.”

“What do you want?”

Lucian leaned over. His head touched Aven’s shoulder. His slim and cold body pressed to his own. “I want to sleep.”

A strange warmth twisted in Aven’s chest. His breath left him like it had been punched from his lungs. He reached over, drawing the blankets up around them and encircled the Prince in his arms. Warm. Careful. 

“…then sleep.”

“Don’t leave.”

“I won’t. I swear it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find more of this story at https://capturedhearts.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> You can find more of this story at https://capturedhearts.tumblr.com/


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